Auction Ch. 14

"I think you're right. We'll have to fix that."

Ethan reached over and pulled her down across his lap, her ass up in the air, her head hanging down towards the floor.

By the time they did reach their destination, she was moaning with the intensity of it all, her fine buttocks red and heated from his efforts to distract her.

When Ethan finally did remove the blindfold, she gasped at the sight before her. They stood at the entranceway to what could only be a large hall of some kind; she would have thought they'd be in a church, but knew that Ethan would never participate in something so profane.

The room was swaddled in darkness, punctuated by dim lighting above them, save for a lone dais at the far end of the room, which was well lit so as to capture one's attention. Bars were set against either wall to her right and her left, and banks of low couches occupied a series of alcoves along the far wall.

In the center of the room, bodies moved in time to a throbbing beat, dancing with abandon. There must have been a hundred dancers on the floor, some nude, some clad in submissive garb, and some simply dressed in suits or gowns. Twice their number stood along the walls and by the bars, talking and drinking in small groups.

Despite the presence of so many nude forms, the room had a decidedly formal air to it, which she thought only appropriate given that this was a wedding.

Jen looked at the alcoves more closely, and was pleased to see figures moving within them, bodies writhing against one another. Nothing could be heard over the music, but she could imagine the rest.

She smiled and looked at Ethan. "This is a wedding, Master?"

He smiled back, "Yes. We do like to have our fun."

Ethan took a drink from a passing waiter, and Jen noted with pleasure that the slave was a man for a change, a young handsome fellow whose lean body made her hunger stir within her.

She looked at Ethan again, and he nodded, "This party is for Matthew and Dash, and they have a lot of friends. So Jonathan and I called in some favors to staff the event properly."

He took a sip of his drink. "Besides, you didn't really think the Red Crane only trained women, did you?"

Jen laughed at her own naiveté. For some reason she had.

"No, it trains both. It all depends on what the customer wants. Not my cup of tea, of course, but I do know they consider it a very profitable product line."

She nodded, wondering just how many slaves the Red Crane produced; there must have been at least thirty wait staff working the room.

For the next hour they worked the room, Ethan greeting a number of guests. To Jen, it seemed an endless progression of dominant men paired with younger submissive beauties, though they did meet the occasional woman accompanied by a submissive man. They even met several lesbian couples, who eyed Jen with a barely concealed hunger that made her shrink behind Ethan, afraid of their attentions.

At length, she saw an older man in a dark pinstripe suit approach them, a blonde on his arm whose naked breasts were a testament to the powers of plastic surgery. The older man was very striking, and she realized with a start that she knew him.

"Isn't that ..." she began, before Ethan stilled her with a gentle pressure on her lower back. She looked at him, and he nodded ever so slightly.

"Yes, it is. But it's impolitic to point that out. Our group can be very ... private at these events.

"Now go play," Ethan kissed her lightly on the nose. "I have business to discuss. Take Suchin and enjoy the party. The DJ is quite good"

"Yes, Master." She turned to go, only to stop as he caught her arm tightly.

"But behave yourself; remember what happened at the airport." His brown eyes met hers, the gravity of his command clear.

Jen nodded, "Yes, Master. I'll behave." She turned away and strode off into the crowd with her new companion, knowing she couldn't promise anything.

She heard him greet the new arrival and his slave, heard him address the man as Senator, and then shook her head, choosing instead to focus on the fun before her. Still ... Ethan appeared to have powerful friends.

"Enough talk! Let's dance." Suchin's hand was light and warm in hers, and she let herself be led to the dance floor.

The music throbbed in the near darkness, a pulsing beat that suited the crowd and its blatant excesses.

"Do you like this song?"

She could barely hear her fellow slutslave over the noise, but nodded her affirmation. Suchin smiled and reached behind her head and untied the thin straps that held her shimmering shift. In one flow of liquid metal, it slid down her frame and onto the floor. The Asian caught her eye and winked, and then began to move her body in time with the beat.

Jen watched with a practiced eye as the Asian moved with the music, her naked form almost serpentine in the low light. Strange sigils adorned her small, pert breasts, arcing darts that served to emphasize the curves of her breasts. In this light, she couldn't tell if they were tattoos or not.

Unexpectedly, she found herself enjoying the sight for its own aesthetics, no longer wracked by her own insecurities.

Her time with Ethan seemed to be curing her of her longstanding dislike of her own body. Now, finally, it was possible to enjoy the way her body moved, was seen, and felt as she danced,

"It's Rachid Taha," shouted Suchin in her ear.

She knew the artist, his work was full of Eastern influences and the throaty inflections of Arabic, yet laced with rasping electronic snarls and snare drums. Jen decided almost immediately she liked it, and began to sway her body in time with the music, letting herself really relax for the first time in months.

Snatching a drink from a passing servant, she threw it back in one motion, and then placed it on the next tray she saw, ignoring the frown that the bound slave gave her as she tipped the empty glass onto a plate of food. She never stopped moving, moving in to grind her body against Suchin, her full breast crushed against the lean, muscled back of her companion.

Her nipples ached from the constant movement, and her hands tingled as they held her companion's hips, but the pull of the music was too strong. She wasn't a slave, wasn't nude save for a corset in a room full of strangers, wasn't property. For now, for this moment, lost in the crowd of dancers, her curls whirling about her as she danced, she was just a woman.

She gave herself entirely to the music.

The vodka was so cold the glass burned her hand, and the shot poured down the length of her throat with a sensation akin to burning. It was expensive and clearly imported – that much she remembered from her life before this place.

On her empty stomach the effects were immediate; a pleasant warmth spread out through her body, and she relaxed into the plush cushions of the booth, crossing her legs and placing her hands out to either side for support.

Her chest heaved as she caught her breath. Hours of dancing had left her spent in a way she hadn't felt in a long time. She felt lean and hungry, ready for something, though she didn't know what.

"I know ... I know." The Asian slutslave gave her a knowing look. "Be patient. Your present is on the way."

Her present?

Suchin smiled and snapped her fingers. A bound slave appeared, proffering his tray to them. Jen stared unabashedly at the man's cock, fascinated by the way it moved as the slave bent to give them their drinks.

"You have a problem, girl," Suchin's voice was hot in her ear as her fellow slutslave snuggled up against Jen, her small pert breasts pressing into Jen in a most delightful way. "If you're not careful, you'll go too far."

Jen scooped up another shot from the table, ignoring the cold burn of it, and up ended its contents, savoring the taste more carefully this time, before the intensity of its chill forced her to swallow it. Her belly burned with it, and the hungry feeling of disconnection increased.

"Go too far? How can I go too far? I don't even belong to me. Nothing I do is my own. I'm Ethan's plaything."

She looked over at Suchin with a sad smile, her tongue freed by the strong effects of the liquor. "Hell, I'm not even his favorite plaything. That bitch Kami is. I love him so much and he doesn't seem to care."

Suchin placed a finger over Jen's lips, stilling her. "Hush, before you say something you'll really regret."

Jen nodded, knowing she was going too far. But her, just the two of them in this isolated booth, she wanted to say more, to state her case, to see if all the jealousies and desires she felt were unique to her.

Before she knew it, she was spilling it all to Suchin, the hunger she felt for Ethan, the sorrow of not being exclusively his, the odd tension between her dislike and her desire for Kami, all of it.

Suchin listened, sipping her drink, stopping only to ask the occasional question. Her almond eyes were sharp and knowing, which told Jen that her feelings weren't unique, even if the Asian beauty said nothing.

At last, she paused, wrung out from revealing so much of herself. "So, am I crazy? Is it just me?"

With a smile, her companion leaned in and kissed her lightly on the lips, sparking a small flare within Jen. She leaned back and finished her own shot. "No, of course not. It's a difficult life you've chosen. Some of us get lucky. Master Jonathan keeps only me, so except for the occasional guest, it's just us."

Jen nodded, and reached for a third shot. Suchin frowned at this, she noted, but with a smirk she doffed the drink.

"Is it true that my master trained you?"

The Asian beauty nodded, blushing slightly, which provoked faint feelings of jealousy in her. That her companion shared something so precious that the simple mention of it made her blush only served to underscore what she lacked.

"I came to his service in Kami's second year. I was a special project of his." One delicate hand came to rest on Jen's thigh, its unstated intentions clear amidst the throb of the music around them.

Forcing herself to ignore it, yet opening her legs ever so slightly, Jen looked at her companion, "A special project?"

"Yes. I'd had another master, but was proving too willful, I wasn't responding to training. Master Ethan ... fixed ... that problem."

Again the blush ... again the spike of jealousy.

Jen leaned forward, "Does he do that often? Fix willful slaves?"

"More than you think," Starke said with a laugh as he slid into the booth next to her from the left, his body crushing against hers. As always, he was impeccably dressed, Armani at the very least.

She was instantly wet and ready, hungry for him.

His eyes fixed on hers, the incredible blue apparent even in the low light of the booth. She could see the faintest halo of his contacts, and found the vanity of that affectation endearing, though she couldn't say why.

Starke held her gaze as no man ever had, save for Ethan. It must have been something that Dominants learned, she thought to herself as she fought against the powerful hunger those eyes possessed.

"Hello, Jennifer," he said quietly, leaning in toward her. She could smell him at this distance, and found herself responding to it. His scent was very different from Ethan's, sharper and headier, less confidence to it, even if it was hungrier. It suited him, she decided, taking a long, deep breath through her nose, it was a scent for a younger man, one less sure of his position and yet more ambitious than an older man like Ethan.

Starke leaned in a little further and kissed her lightly on the lips.

She started backwards a little, her nipples throbbing painfully against the clips as her body reacted to his touch.

His intentions toward her were plain, and given that she was thirty one, incredibly flattering.

"Can ... can you do this?"

The ice blue eyes flashed, "Call me 'Sir', I've certainly earned it."

"Yes, Sir," she nodded, clutching her seat, willing herself to be still, to fight the growing heat inside her. Jen could feel the fugue coming.

It felt wrong, though, the fugue was reserved for her master.

Wasn't it?

Was the fugue something for Ethan?

Or was the fugue simply something Ethan exploited to his own benefit?

And yet, as Starke traced one finger over her left nipple, barely grazing the swollen, tortured flesh, dragging her fugue ever closer to the surface, Jen realized that she wasn't sure she even cared.

"Can you do this, Sir? My Master ..."

Starke flicked the clamped bud, making her moan and fall back against the plush couch. "I can. I am."

Suchin's hand was suddenly very hot against her right thigh, her fingertips moving in slow circles along the length of her most sensitive skin, whirling close to her aching pussy, only to slide away again. The effect was maddening, though Jen knew full well that the Asian slutslave was only playing her part, giving her Master this gift of seducing his latest appetite.

And she was that appetite, she realized with delight. Not that it wasn't evident before, not that she couldn't still feel his touch on her body from those stolen moments in the elevator.

But this, this rather blatant overture was captivating.

Starke looked down at her body, then back at her. "I see you've been dancing, you have a rather healthy glow."

She nodded. "Yes, Sir, Suchin took me dancing. I haven't been dancing in quite some time."

"I'm sure." Starke ran his hand over her nipple again, and then suddenly released the clip. Jolts of searing pleasurepain surged through her, making her cry out as the fugue surged to the fore. Her pussy began to ache, the dildo heavy inside her, filling her with its echo of her most treasured cock.

It wasn't enough ... she needed the real thing.

Jen thrashed forward, into Starke's waiting arms, bucking and moving against him as her orgasm began to take shape.

"Not yet," he hissed in her ear, the sibilant tone of his words dragging her back from the precipice. "Not until I say so."

She could only nod, straining to hear his words over the roaring in her ears. She was so wet, so ready, uncaring that this was not her Master.

"Now, I want to fuck your mouth."

She nodded, desperately hungry for satisfaction, hungry for the man who'd found her that day. She'd felt an instant attraction to Starke that day, and had thought about him since. Now, confronted by the reality of him and beset by her own inner cravings, her reserve crumbled.

Starke leaned back and Jen saw his cock there waiting for her, held by one of his hands. She could see the beginnings of his release there atop his swollen head, could see with terrible clarity the pulse of veins along his thick shaft. She could see it before her, and she wanted it with every fiber of her being.

It was a magnificent sight, one that made her sigh with hunger.

All those old feelings – from the pride of being put on display while he flogged her, to those initial moments in the courtyard when she'd savored the open longing of the valets – had brought her to this moment.

Whatever dreams she had of becoming a concubine, of serving just one man, she knew what she truly was.

And so did Starke.

Jen leaned forward, her mouth dry with anticipation, her mind giddy with the thrill of being so desired by another, all her old inner demons blown away by the force of this man's lust.

Just as her lips graced the head of his cock, so deliriously close, she was hauled to her feet, Ethan's strong hand using the mass of her curls to pull her up and away from the object of her desire.

He pulled her head around to face him and slapped her hard with the back of his hand, almost knocking her from her feet.

She whimpered, suddenly reminded that she belonged to this man, had sworn to serve him, and then did the only thing she could: Knelt and assumed a submissive position. Her feet tucked under her, her breasts thrust outward, hands held behind her, and her head down, she waited.

"Ethan, old chap, where have you been?" Starke seemed entirely unconcerned at having been caught.

"Shut it, Jon. What the hell do you think you're doing?" Her Master's voice was cold fury, enough to make Jen flinch.

"Frankly, I was going to fuck her mouth. It's something I've wanted to do since the day you sent me to find her."

Sent him to find her?!?

"And what made you think that I'd allow that?"

"I don't know. I do know that she was a willing participant."

"Yes," he said, as his hand clamped down on a handful of her curls again, "she was."

Jen struggled to her feet, tears welling from the pain of his grip. He released her, and deftly replaced the clip on her nipple.

"We're done here for now."

"There will be consequences for this, Jonathan." Ethan snapped his leash onto her collar and pulled her to him. Jen could see Starke step away, his hands held up in front of him, and then bow and leave.

Suchin cast her one last glance as she left, a wicked smile that left her wondering who the Asian beauty really served.

Ethan pulled her against him.

"I know what you're doing, Jennifer. I've seen it before." He was so close to her, the fabric of his dark suit scoring itself against her swollen nipples. "All slutslaves go through this."

She looked up sharply at him, "They do?"

He smiled, "They do. It's only natural. I've been training you for months to be perfect slut, to surrender yourself to your sexuality. And now it's running its natural course. You're at that critical moment where you must choose."

Choose, she wondered? Choose what?

Seeing her confusion, he kissed her lightly on the mouth. She responded hungrily, her body afire from what she'd just experienced, still feverish with need. "You have to choose which path you'll choose next, whether you're truly going to become the concubine you say you want to be, or whether you're going to become something darker, a creature of your own desires."

She looked at him as he nodded towards a pair of slaves, clad only in what she'd come to view as the standard slave uniform – black corsets, black heels, and slave collars. They were a matched pair of brunettes, one with a pageboy haircut, the other with her hair pulled into twin braids, and the two were serving drinks to the crowd. As she watched a man nearby signaled to the woman with the pageboy, and then pulled his cock from his pants. The slutslave promptly passed her tray to her fellow slave, and then sank to her knees and began to suckle the man's turgid shaft.

"These two have been at every function I've been to like this in the past three years. Persephone, the one with the shorter hair, is from Seattle, I'm told. An intellectual property rights lawyer whose job simply became too stressful one day; her friend, Daphne is the one with the braids and the two trays. Daphne was already on the waiting list for the Red Crane, and managed to get her friend added. What she did to pull that off I have no idea. But both women have served out their contracts in full, and chosen to renew."

Seeing her confusion, he smiled. "They renewed with the House, not any particular master, the better to indulge their insatiable sexual hunger. When they did so they received new names, the better to renounce their old lives. Both women have gone too far down the path of a slave to ever come back – no one man can satisfy them. So they became what they are."

Jen stared at the pair, Daphne stood patiently with the two trays, while her sister slave bobbed up and down on the cock of a complete stranger. A strange light filled Persephone's eyes as her ruby lips moved over the shaft. It was a sight both profoundly arousing and incredibly disturbing.

And yet, she could see the appeal ... to give oneself over entirely to lust. To enter the fugue and never return to the banalities of a normal life. She'd thought she'd done that by entering Ethan's service, but this ... this was something else entirely.