The Auction

My heart was pounding a mile a minute the night I met BethAnne (or I guess you could say the night I "bought" BethAnne). I had heard about the slave auctions at one of the famous S&M clubs in downtown New York City on a Friday night. I went there not knowing what to expect. There were an awful lot of weird characters there and I really felt out of place. I mean, a girl really shouldn't be in a place like that. The men made passes at me, hoping I was submissive; the women looked at me like I was competition for them.

There were three girls available for auction that night. After seeing the first two, both of whom looked like they had been worked over by a steam shovel, my anticipation dwindled. But when BethAnne came up to the stage, my heart leaped out! There she was, the girl of my dreams--petite, blonde, blue-eyed, pug-nosed. Innately shy. Not a day over 20. She never raised her head, not once, while the auctioneer rattled off the cadence of numbers. At $250 there were three bidders left. At $325 just two. I ended up buying her for $400, only after convincing the auctioneer to make her raise her skirt up, showing us a dainty pair of white panties beneath her tan-colored pantyhose, and to open her blouse half-way, exposing a lacy, white bra and what appeared to be a pair of very well-formed breasts.

She blushed profusely as she was led to me from the dais, her head still lowered. I wondered what kind of girl would allow herself to be sold as a slave to a perfect stranger, to another girl. "I live in Jersey," I half-whispered, my heart racing. "My car is outside."

"You have to promise me one thing," she said in an obviously nervous manner.

"What's that?"

"No marks. I don't want you to leave any marks. I don't mind going with you, and you can do whatever you want to, but I don't want marks."

"All right. No marks," I said. "I want you to enjoy this evening as much as me."

For the first time she looked at me. Our eyes met. "I'm BethAnne."

"And I'm Danielle," I said, holding out my right hand. She shook it and smiled, just slightly, the kind of smile one gives more out of fear than of happiness.

Our chauffeur-driven ride through the Lincoln Tunnel occurred in almost total silence. I wanted it that way, to heighten BethAnne's obvious nervousness. She looked out of the window most of the time. I made some notes in a note book along the way, reminders to myself of things I planned to do in my one big night of fantasy fulfillment.

When we arrived, I gave the butler the night off and escorted BethAnne into my house. She seemed quite impressed with the mansion that I had inherited from my grandfather. She particularly liked the indoor swimming pool. I offered her a drink and she accepted. We ended up on the living room sofa.

"Well, I guess you know why you are here, BethAnne," I said to the pretty blonde.

She kept her head down, blushing once more. She shook her head in the affirmative, biting her lower lip ever so slightly. She appeared to be trying to act like she wasn't as nervous as she really was. I could sense her uneasiness.

"How long have you been into this sort of thing?"

She smiled again. "You are not going to believe this, Danielle, but only for a few months. My ex- boyfriend really got me started. He was deeply into S&M and got me involved. At first I didn't like it, but after a while it grew on me. When he got tired of me, he let a few of his friends use me. I got more and more into it. After a while, I didn't care who did what to me, as long as it hurt."

"Is this the first time you've been auctioned off?"

"The second," she replied. "But last weekend was a bomb. The guy wanted to mark me up. I think I escaped with my life. Please tell me you're not like that."

I smiled. "I'm not, BethAnne." I paused, pensively, "But I hope to get my $400 worth," I continued with a sexy smile.

For one of the first few times in the evening she looked at me again and half-smiled as she cocked her head, "You will," she said softly. "I trust you."

"Tell me some of the things you like, BethAnne."

She became quiet and thoughtful. Her mind seemed to be racing with ways of answering my question. She seemed to want to please me. It was obvious she had been well trained by someone. "That's a difficult question. I guess it depends on the situation. I like to be ordered to do things. I'll do almost anything you ask me to."

"I can go for that. Like, how about for starters, raising your dress up a bit while you're sitting there so I can see a bit more of your legs. You have very nice legs. Don't be afraid to show them off."

She blushed slightly, but without hesitating, raised her hips a few inches off the sofa and, placing the palms of her hands on the outside of her dress to the side of her thighs, pulled the thin, dark blue cotton several inches higher. She was wearing light-brown, see-through pantyhose which made her legs look sleek and tanned. The hem of the dress stopped just a few inches short of the top of her thighs. Having raised the dress, she curled her shoeless feet under her behind and pointed her knees away from me.

It was a nice, somewhat provocative leg show. "That's nice," I said. "You are quite sexy, BethAnne. Have you ever made it with another woman?"

"Yes," she replied, with a coy smile that lit up my heart, "or I wouldn't be here now."

I returned her smile. She seemed bent on answering my questions in a forthright manner. "Tell me what else you like."

"I, well, I guess I like to be tied up and, ah, you know, whipped." She spoke hesitatingly, feeling me out, trying to determine what my intentions were for her.

"Where do you like to be whipped?"

She became pensive again. There was a long, pregnant pause. Finally, she replied, "Just about anywhere, I guess," biting her lower lip even harder.

Her answer really piqued my interest. "Your ass?"

"Yes."

"Your breasts?"

"Y-yes," she said, instinctively moving her right hand to just under left tit, cupping it ever so slightly, as if to protect it. The gesture inflamed me. I really wanted to try this girl out.

"How about your pussy, BethAnne?"

She turned her head away from me, as if she were afraid to answer. She looked so sweet, it was difficult to believe she was really into this life-style. "BethAnne? Answer me. I have a pussy whip in my little collection. Does that turn you on."

She looked at me for a brief second, then turned her head away. "Yes," she blurted. "Even my pussy, if it's done right. Please, do I have to answer these questions? This is embarrassing."

"I want to know how to please you, so I can please myself. I'll work with you if you work with me. We're in this together, okay? What part of your body is the most sensitive to erotic stimuli?"

Her head dropped completely. She stared at her lap. She paused for a moment, her lip quivering just slightly. "Do I have to tell you?" she asked.

"You must," I said in a more demanding tone than I had heretofore been using.

"I, well.... I guess it's my backside, you know...my...my anus. I can really get off if things are done to me there."

"Like what?" I persisted.

There was a another long pause. She was choosing her words carefully, still trying to analyze my desires. "I, I like to be taken there." She paused again, then blurted, "Especially when I'm tied up and can't move. And I guess I like to have things put inside my ass." She began fidgeting nervously with her fingers, afraid she had confided too much to me. Her voice cracked when she spoke. I had located a nerve ending, and I decided to explore it immediately.

"I have a long, thin battery-operated dildo, BethAnne. I'm going to penetrate your asshole with it later on this evening, and leave it inside you for a long time. Maybe I'll whip your backside while it's in there! Do you think you'd like that?"

Her face turned crimson. She shifted her legs. "I know I would like that." She turned her head toward me and whispered, "I'd like that very much." Her words were so soft I could barely hear her.

"I won't let you down. I promise not to hurt you beyond what you can endure, and I promise to leave no marks. I have only one rule--I insist on complete obedience. You are my slave for the rest of this evening. If a slave is disobedient, she gets punished. If she obeys, she is rewarded. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes," she replied, barely above a whisper.

"Then it's time to begin. Stand up, BethAnne."

As she moved her legs to stand, she opened them just enough to afford me a brief glimpse of the 'V' of her crotch, covered as it was by the darker colored pantyhose tops above her thighs. She stood just a few feet in front of me, head obediently lowered, eyes closed. Her dark blue skirt had fallen back into place. She wore a white cotton, short-sleeved blouse, unbuttoned at the neck. Her hands were at her sides, her fingers nervously fidgeting on her skirt.

"I want to examine what I've bought. Every inch of it. Every single part. It's mine now, at least for tonight, and I've got to know everything about you."

"Yes, mistress." She did not raise her head or open her eyes. It was the first time she had called me "mistress". It sounded nice.

"Come closer to me, BethAnne," I commanded. She took child-like steps on the softness of the carpet beneath her stockinged feet. She stopped, her knees just inches from mine. "I want you to kneel down and raise your hands over your head and hold them there until I tell you to lower them." Without hesitation she did as I told her. By her actions, I knew she would make a good slave. Her hands were fists above her lowered head, her eyes still closed. I inched forward from my seat and brought my fingers to her face. Gently, I massaged the skin of her forehead and cheeks with the tips of my fingers for several moments. It was a technique I had read about--complete tenderness before the suffering. It served to raise the distinction in the recipient's mind between the two extremes of pain and pleasure.

"You have a very pretty face," I whispered, then added, "And I hope that blonde hair is natural."

"It is," she said, her face flushing for the hundredth time this evening.

"I guess I'll be finding out soon enough for myself," I said in a low, sexy voice, bringing my finger tips down the sides of BethAnne's bare neck and resting my palms on her shoulders. Ever so gently, I kneaded the area beneath my palms, then slowly lowered my hands toward her pouting, blouse-covered breasts. She hissed slightly as my hands moved over the mounds; I felt the fullness of her soft flesh beneath the blouse and bra. Her tits did not feel large, but they were not small by any means. I squeezed gently. She shuddered. Her mouth gaped open. The nipples began to enlarge beneath the thin cotton as I moved the palms in a circular direction, teasing the turgid nubbins beneath the fabric even more.

"I like your breasts. They are firm. Just the right size." For good measure, I gave them both a hard squeeze. She groaned, more out of surprise and pleasure than pain. She seemed to consciously lean into me as I grabbed her there, pressing her upper body against my hands, as if she wanted me to do this to her. She was really into this pain stuff, I could tell. Sensing her needs, I squeezed much harder, causing her to throw her head back slightly and to moan softly.

"Do you like it when I squeeze your tits real hard?"

"Yes," she blurted. It was obvious she was being truthful.

I took the opportunity to give her exactly what she wanted, contracting my hands and fingers over her mounds, savoring her now incessant moans and groans. Having had my temporary fill of her breasts, I moved my hands down her body, alongside her petite waist, finally letting them come to rest on her hips, just below the black leather belt she wore around her skirt. Noticing the belt for the first time, I decided that it could come into use later. Quickly, I unbuckled it and pulled it out of the loops around her waist. I said, "This may come in handy later," then placed the belt next to me on the sofa.

"That's why I wore it," she said candidly.

"I think we're going to get along just fine tonight," I said with a wide smile, then, leaning forward as far as I could, I looked down at BethAnne's kneeling knees. They were close together. Too close. "Open your legs more, BethAnne." Instantly, she stretched her skirt with her opened legs until the material was taut.

I leaned forward even more, putting my left hand behind her back for support, while I moved my right hand beneath the hem of her skirt, and then upward, forcing the front of her skirt to rise in the crook of my arm as I planted my fingers in the crotch of her pantyhose. I could feel the warmth of her breath on the side of my neck.

"OH!" she cried, bringing her thighs close together to capture my hand between them as soon as she felt my hand reach the "V' of her hot crotch. Yes, the crotch was hot. Not warm. Hot! Moisture had already seeped from her sex through her panties and hose. I pressed upward into the meaty tissues, then urged my middle finger into the divide of the soft lips, just at the outside her vaginal entrance. She moaned passionately as I pressed inward with my finger, forcing her panty crotch slightly into her vagina.

I grabbed a handful of her sex and squeezed it tightly with my hand, just hard enough for her to realize that the gentleness she had recently enjoyed was merely a brief reprieve, a turning point for what was to come. She shuddered, but otherwise accepted my first attempt at heavy-handedness with hardly a flinch. I pulled my hand away from her burning crotch and moved it out from under her skirt. She looked sexy beyond words, kneeling before me, hands raised, eyes lowered, face flushed, my own little slave for the evening.

"Do you think I am pretty, BethAnne?" I asked, returning my hands to her shoulders, my voice thick and slurpy.

"Yes, very," she replied, raising her eyes and looking at me for the briefest of moments before lowering her head once more.

"Do you think you might learn to like my body?

"Y-yes," she replied.

I brought my index finger to her lower lip, drawing the lip down gently to reveal the whiteness of her lower teeth. "Would you like to look up my skirt?"

She gulped. "Yes," she said, her eyes meeting mine once more. There was almost a pleading look in them.

"What if I'm not wearing panties?" I teased.

"That's okay," she replied with a nervous gulp, her eyes widening.

"You wouldn't be embarrassed, looking at another woman's pussy?"

"I don't mind," she husked.

Of course she wouldn't mind. The anticipation in her eyes was a dead giveaway. I sat back on the sofa, my head resting against the upper cushion. I kept my legs closed tightly, my bright red skirt at mid-thigh. Her pretty blue eyes went straight to my knees. I was not wearing stockings. She gulped again. She wasn't expecting me to give her a little show. I opened my legs just a bit, wanting only to tease her, not permitting anything more than a look part way up my skirt. Her mouth opened slightly in expectation.

"Why don't you push my knees apart with your hands, BethAnne," I said with a sexy, inviting smile. She leaned forward, placed her hands on my bare knees, then pushed them gently. My legs parted, providing BethAnne with a wide-open view of my crotch, covered only by a pair of silky, light-blue panties. I watched her stare intently between my opened legs. She seemed engrossed by the sight.

"Later, my dear, I will let you eat me. Do you give good head?"

"The best," she said with a wry smile. It was the only time the entire evening she would try to come out of her shell. She was a strange woman, indeed. I wanted her badly. I let her look between my slightly parted legs for a few moments. Her eyes remained glued to my crotch, fascinated by the view. I wanted to pull her head into me and let her suck me off, but there were things I had to do to her first. Abruptly, I closed my legs.

"All right, you've seen enough. Stand up!" I commanded. "Put your hands back over your head."

She arose from her kneeling position and stood, her eyes still riveted to my now closed legs, her hands pointing toward the ceiling. "Turn around!" I ordered, and slowly she turned to face away from me. The roundness of the cheeks of her ass was now evident beneath her tight skirt. This woman was wanton, wild, lustful. She would do anything I wanted her to do. All I had to do was ask.

I brought my feet to the floor and reached out to grab a handful of her luscious globes beneath the skirt. The flesh was firm, only slightly yielding to the touch. I kneaded the muscle for several moments, listening to her soft sighs and moans. Her hips began to undulate slightly under my hands. I could smell her womanly odors emanating from beneath the dress. The smell was familiarly pungent. I could only guess that she was really flowing between her legs now.

Reaching down, I grasped the hem of her skirt and began raising it upward, revealing the back of her sleek legs, tan-looking beneath the svelte hose. She wasn't wearing a slip. The skirt started to bunch at her waist as I pushed it higher, finally easing it over her lower buttocks.

"You may lower your arms now, BethAnne. Then bend over as far as you can." As her body bent at the waist, I pushed the skirt all the way over the curved cheeks of her ass. The view from behind her was fantastic! The darker upper portion of the pantyhose was almost completely opaque. I could barely discern a pair of white bikini-style panties beneath the material.

Reaching to my side, I picked up the leather belt that I had recently removed from BethAnne's skirt. I doubled it in my hand, then held it over my shoulder. The target area was right in front of my eyes. She had no idea of what I was about to do. Surprise, I had learned long ago, is an important element in proper punishment. Without saying a word, I drove the belt into her right ass cheek. There was a dull cracking sound of the

leather striking against the thin mesh of the pantyhose, followed by a short "Yelp" from BethAnne's lips as she fell forward slightly.

"Does that feel good?" I husked.

"Yes," she replied, moving her hips slightly from side to side, bracing herself for the next stroke.

"Tell me you want some more," I said in a demanding voice.

"I...I want some more," she said, her voice pleading.

"Open your legs further so you have better balance. Grab your ankles." She did. I could see her looking back at me from between her legs. Her straight blonde hair hung to the floor. Her eyes were slightly teary, her face was red as a beet.

"Close your eyes," I commanded, not wanting her to know when the next stroke was coming. I waited for a few precious moments, letting the tension build up within her, before bringing the belt down on the left side of her ass.

She had braced herself well. All the stroke could evince from her was a short "AH!" though her body did teeter a bit. I could see that this was too mild for her. Reaching under the bunched-up skirt, I grasped the elastic of the top of the pantyhose and pulled it downward, stretching it over the alabaster whiteness of her globes, slowly revealing the dividing crack of the two half-moons. Slowly but surely the ultra- whiteness of the bikini-styled panties she was wearing came into view as I lowered the pantyhose over the bottom of her gorgeous globes.

The panties looked that they had been painted on her ass, so snugly did they fit against her buttocks. They appeared to have been made of rayon or satin. They were plain, without lace or other adornments, with a reinforced crotch. I slapped her panty-covered ass, this time with the palm of my hand, just hard enough to make a loud crack. She gasped, then turned her head around to stare at me. I liked the feisty look in her eyes, they way her ass pouted outward, the sexy way the pantyhose bunched around her thighs, the tight fit of her silky panties on her ass.