Virtual Slavery Ch. 17

I didn't mind being groped--in fact that moment of fear and pain when the first guy kept on squeezing my nipple had brought an undeniable response from my body--but the garish disorienting lights and the cacophonous music were terrible, and I welcomed the quiet of what I thought of as the cages.

I had to stoop over to enter mine. The floor was covered by a bedspread over a wall to wall mattress. There were also a couple of pillows. I removed my shoes--Sam hadn't given me my panties back so I was still naked, and leaned back, facing the open doorway as I had been told to do.

A man passed, glanced in, continued on, then quickly reappeared and entered my lair. Lynn Plath, I told myself, you are quality stuff.

He knew the routine and closed and bolted the door, then reached for the wall phone. I picked up mine.

"Hi."

"Hi, yourself."

"You're new here?"

"If you know that, you know to slide $10 through."

"Oh, yes. Yes. Forgot."

He fumbled in the windbreaker he was wearing over a dress shirt. Although my side was lit and his dim, I could see he was middle aged and mousy, but he was not shy. At least not in this context.

As soon as the finances were taken care of, he unzipped his pants and whipped out his cock and sat down and began to stroke himself.

"You like what you see?" he asked.

"Love it."

"You like cock?"

"Love them."

"You like being a whore?"

"Absolutely." And, I thought, it is true. Sitting here, waiting naked for total strangers to appear and expose myself to them. "I'm just a bitch in heat. Always."

He seemed taken aback and his hand on his cock slowed. "You sound like you mean it."

"I do." And even though he hadn't told me to, sitting on the mattress, facing him, I let my legs fall apart and began to masturbate too.

"You like to suck strange cock?"

"Yes."

"Would you suck mine?" His hand speeded up.

"Of course. To the hilt. Suck you dry."

"And let me fuck you?"

"I'll just keep on sucking after you come until you're as hard as a rock again and then we'll fuck our brains out."

"You take it in the ass?"

"All the time."

"Doesn't it hurt?"

"At first. But then it's good. Love hurts. You know the song."

"Show me.""

I rolled onto my knees, my ass toward him, and, turning my head to one side so he could see my face, reached back and spread my cheeks.

"It's red," he said. "And wet."

"A guy had his finger up my ass a little while ago."

"Oh no," he groaned and his sperm shot up and out almost two feet to splash against the plastic.

Turning over I sat and watched him continue to come, the sticky fluid coating his hand.

When he stopped, I said, "That was quite a load."

Collapsing back against the door, "Never so much. You going to be a regular."

"I don't know. Probably not."

He was clearly disappointed.

"Come over here," I said.

"What?"

"Come over here. Wipe it against the glass."

As he stood, I got on my knees and opened my mouth and kissed the partition as he smeared the last of his come on other side of the plastic a fraction of an inch away.

"Hmm. Tastes good," I said. "I love your come."

He stumbled back on weak legs. Zipped up his pants and sat down.

"I want it," he said. "I'll pay. Whatever you want. Make a date to see me outside."

"I don't think I can do that."

"Anything. Name your price."

"It's not that. I belong to someone. It's not my decision. I do what I'm told." I liked saying that.

"Lucky bastard. Well, ask. I'll be back tomorrow."

The floor of the stage in the Marquis Room was bare wood and hurt my back as I lay naked in the center of a bright spotlight circle. Faces in the audience peered down at me from seats rising in tiers as in an operating theater. The room was small, intimate indeed. None of the spectators was more than a few feet away and could hear the sticky sounds as the blond, whom I recognized as from the dance floor, slipped her fingers into my sopping cunt.

"Feel good?" she cooed.

"Yes."

She too was naked and, without slowing her hand, lay down beside me, turning my head with her other hand, and kissed me. Her lips were soft and full. Her tongue pushed past mine. I opened my mouth and accepted it. She fucked my mouth with her tongue with the same rhythm she was fucking my cunt with her fingers.

Pulling her head back, she smiled down at me. Then lowered her mouth to my nipple and enclosed it, sucking, licking, then catching it between her teeth and pulling upward. I arched my back to follow her. She bit down and I gasped.

"Oh, I am going to have such fun with you," she said and, rolled over, straddling me. Her pussy was wet against my belly. "Put your hands up over your head. That's right stretch your arms."

She reached down and took a nipple in each hand. Squeezed. Lifted. And twisted. Instinctively I started to try to stop her.

"Don't move your arms," she hissed and twisted harder. "Don't move."

As my arms fell back, she studied my face. "You like it, don't you. You want it rough. You can't help but respond."

"Yes." I whispered.

""Louder. Tell everyone."

In the momentary pain, I had completely forgotten the audience. "Yes. I like it rough."

She released my nipples. As my breasts fell back into their normal shape, she began to slap them from the side. First one, then the other, letting her hands brush against the nipples. First lightly, then with ever increasing force. The audience was completely still. The only sound the slap of palms against breasts. And then my moans. My breasts became so hot. I wanted it to be Brad. Why didn't he beat me himself. For an instant I wondered why I wanted to be beaten. But it didn't matter. It felt so good. I arched.

"You like it too much. Roll over."

The blond lifted her weight, and I turned face down and felt her sit on me again, her cunt smearing my back as she turned toward my ass. I could smell her.

Blows rained upon my ass cheeks. I am being spanked, I thought. Publicly. As her hands hit harder, faster, I thought, What about bruises? How will I keep them from Winston? then didn't care. My breathing grew ragged.

Without warning she lifted from me, grabbed my hair and twisted so I that I rolled onto my back again.

"Not yet, you little slut," she hissed. "You don't get off until I tell you to."

One hand holding my head down by the hair, the other dove to my cunt again. I felt a finger, then two or three. I was not certain. Her hand was pumping into me furiously. The intensity was building, almost overflowing, when she leaned down and kissed me again, hard, and thrust her hand, hard. Enormous pain. Gasps from the audience. My cunt incredibly full. Fuller even it seemed than with Jefferson.

She broke the kiss and pulled my head up. "Look," she said triumphantly. I did and almost passed out. There was a snake tattooed on her arm. It's head seemed to be licking at my cunt. Her hand was all the way inside me. I tried to remember if she was wearing any rings, tried to feel if there was anything ripping my membranes.

She let my head fall back.

Now that she was in, I had to admit, it felt good.

She moved, twisting her wrist. I groaned.

"Ever been fisted before, cunt?"

"No. No."

"What's it like. Inquiring minds want to know."

"Like nothing...I've ever...Oh, God."

She fist fucked me. Pistoning almost to the point where her hand pulled past the pelvic bones and outer ring of flesh, then hard in, filling my cunt all the way to the back.

"You'll do anything. You get off on anything. Don't you?" she taunted

"Yes."

"You'd fuck a dog if I brought one in here?"

"Yes."

"Well you're in luck." She ripped her hand from me. I screamed. And looked down. I was so wet it felt as though I were bleeding, but I saw no blood, just juices.

"What?" I panicked. They couldn't. Not a dog. Not in public. Not even in San Francisco.

But from the shadows outside the spotlight came a dog. Actually a girl--her breasts were exposed through cutouts--on all fours in a goofy dog costume, black and white spots, big floppy ears, droopy tail, and a long red erect cock.

"Here, boy. Come here. A nice treat for you. You'll like it."

The dog girl crawled around aimlessly, sniffing the floor, then seemed to pick up a scent and made a beeline for my cunt, into which it stuck its nose. Someone in the audience laughed.

"Raise your legs."

I did, and the dog nosed around, then pulled back.

"Help the doggie, bitch."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Suck the nice doggie cock."

The girl leaned back on her haunches, which made the cock stick up at an angle.

I got onto my knees and lowered my head.

"That's it. Lick it. Tastes good, doesn't it. Any cock tastes good to a hot bitch like you."

The blond grabbed my hair again from behind. "Get it good and wet." And forced me down. The artificial cock was too long even with my newfound skills and I gagged. She liked that, let me up, then forced me down until I wretched again.

"Ready to get fucked?" she asked pleasantly.

Droll running from my mouth, I nodded.

She pushed my head down. "That's why they call it the doggie position."

I heard the girl move behind me, felt the plastic cock enter me, and cringed in fear that she would shove too far and seriously injure me.

But the girl was careful. I'm sure she knew. Her costumed paws held my waist.

I screamed and trashed. I could not help myself. I didn't want to. "Fuck me," I cried.

My concentration on my own sensations was broken when the blond jerked my head up and mashed her cunt in my face. "Lick, bitch." My tongue obediently sought her clit.

We screamed and came together.

Followed by dead silence.

The spotlight went out.

"So why don't you?"

"What?"

"Spank me."

I was back in the limo with Brad, dressed in my brown suit and shoes, but nothing else, no blouse or underwear or stockings.

"Because I agreed not to leave any marks. You insisted that Winston not know."

"She didn't leave marks. I looked in the dressing room mirror. The redness faded quickly."

"I would."

"I don't care." But I felt a twinge of fear, not of being spanked--well, perhaps a little, which was part of it--but about explaining to Winston. Maybe I wanted that to come out too. Broadthroup. Winston. Everything was so confused. Except when I was with Brad and only had to do what I was told.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." Belligerently

"All right." He pressed the intercom to the driver. "Do you know Chaucer's?"

"Yes, sir."

"Take us there."

"Yes, sir."

The limo changed direction, headed south of Mission, and stopped in front of what appeared to be an old warehouse.

The driver came around and opened the door.

"What's this?" I asked.

"You'll see."

"But the way I look," I started to protest. My suit was rumpled, my hair a mess. I had not had a chance to shower.

"You look perfect: You reek of sex."

The driver's eyes again darted up my skirt as I slid across the seat.

Brad's unmistakable form must have been recognized by the surveillance camera. A metal garage door rose noisily as we neared, and then closed behind us.

Tentatively I followed him across a grease stained concrete floor to a black painted metal security door, with an inset square of glass, reflective from our side.

This too opened for us. A huge black man, the size of Jefferson, dressed in a black turtle neck sweater and black pants, said, "Good Evening, Mr. Rankin." and nodded to me.

"Hello, John. Busy tonight?"

"About the usual for a week night when there's an auction."

The last word piqued my already aroused curiosity.

Brad glanced at his watch. "I had forgotten. The usual time?"

"Yes."

"Well, we may not stay that long. I'll see."

A blood chilling scream came from somewhere behind the black man, causing me to flinch and grasp Brad's meaty arm.

He laughed and John smiled. He patted my hand. "Remember you asked for it."

He led me down a corridor, the sides and ceilings of which had been molded to look like the entrance to a cave. The thought of Dante returned. I felt as though I were descending to another, lower circle of Hell.

The corridor opened onto a huge open space, the interior of the warehouse, whose far reaches were lost in gloom. Nearer, as in Hell, pools of light flamed.

A crowd milled about, circled, gathered into knots, and dissolved. A long bar ran along one side of the space. Various implements and chains and pulleys hung from overhead. Here and there were chairs and sofas and hard benches. Almost everyone, except Brad and me, was dressed in black, many in leather, or was naked.

A man, perhaps my age, wearing black leather pants and boots and a black leather vest over a well-muscled bare chest, came up to us, stood appraising me, then said to Brad, "A new one?"

"Yes."

"For the auction?"

"No."

"A pity." And, after looking me up and down again, wandered off.

Another scream. Now I could see that it came from a woman hanging naked upside down suspended from her feet off to our left, but I could not tell what was being done to her.

People brushed past. There were a lot of spikes on collars and wrist bands. Thick leather gloves seemed to be part of the uniform.

A beautiful young blond girl, whose hands were cuffed behind her back, was being led by a much older woman by a leash attached to a steel ring at her clit. Winston had once told me Julie was pierced, I expect testing my reaction, which had been one of such distaste that he never mentioned it again. And I had not liked the pieced noses and tongues I had seen on the street girls or earlier at the porn palace. But this, on the genitals, so blatantly sexual--

"She looks as though she's already had a hard night."

The androgynous voice from behind startled me. When I turned I still could not determine the person's sex. Eye shadow, lipstick, mean nothing. Encased in shiny black latex, from tight fitting hood, to high heeled pointed toed boots. No identifying bulges of either breasts or cock.

"She has."

"And I trust it is just starting, Brad?"

"No. Almost finished."

"So early?"

"I'm afraid so."

The bald head of a naked man, kneeling behind the creature, came into view as he resumed licking the boots. The creature hit him with a riding crop. "Not now, you fool.." The head disappeared. "Just here for an introductory tour then?"

"Not exactly. Come and watch if you'd like."

"Oh, goodie."

Brad pushed through the crowd, now followed by me, the androgyne, and the naked crawling man.

Moans, the wet sounds of sex, of sucking and fucking, flesh against flesh, or perhaps whips against flesh, I could not distinguish them, or see except for glimpses through spectators.

Brad finally found an empty armchair and plopped himself down .

"On your knees." His voice was cold.

As I knelt, others pressed close until they formed a tight wall around us..

Brad extended his small fine right hand. "Kiss it."

Leaning forward I pressed my lips to its back. My head snapped to one side with the force of the blow. My cheek stung.

I had not seen the hand move, and now it was there again, about a foot in front of my burning face.

"Kiss it." He repeated.

With a slight, but unpreventable hesitation, I leaned forward again. My lips touched his hand. My head snapped with the blow.

The slapping sounds attracted a bigger audience.

Not my face, I pleaded inwardly. Fearing a black eye.

"Kiss it."

I obeyed. This blow brought involuntary tears. The crowd murmured approval.

"Kiss it."

My face was on fire.

"Kiss it."

I tasted blood. Something inside my mouth had split on my teeth.

"Kiss it."

"Kiss it."

"Kiss it."

Until, finally, far beyond what I would have thought I could have endured, "Up here. Over my knee."

Stunned, dizzy, I scrambled to my feet, confused.

"Over my knee, I said."

Awkwardly I sprawled face down, and felt my skirt being lifted, my naked ass exposed to the admiration and lust of strangers. I felt like a bad little girl about to be punished. As, I strangely had the presence of mind to remind myself, you are.

With much more sound and force than had the woman earlier, his hand descended with a loud, excruciating slap.

My hair hung down over my eyes, which were blinded with tears as he continued to methodically spank me, holding me in place by his left arm firmly above my hips, first slapping one cheek until I screamed, then the other until I begged for mercy, and back to the first.

Even through my pain, I could tell that excited onlookers were being inspired to do things to one another. I heard the sounds. And something splashed onto my thrashing legs.

Finally it was over. I almost think that I may have briefly lost consciousness, as I often was to do later under more stringent punishment, not from the pain but just the overwhelming stimulation which sent my brain into overdrive until it could not handle any more and crashed.

I felt myself being pushed roughly from his lap, dumped on the floor.

Brad was breathing heavily as though he had been running. He seemed actually angry.

"Thank me."

"Thank you."

Wordlessly he pushed himself upright and plunged into the orgiastic crowd.

Confused, and deathly afraid of losing him and being left there alone, strange hands clutching at me, trying to hold me back, I scrambled after him.

Back in Boston the next evening, the left side of my face was only slightly swollen, though the cracked lip hurt, and I was amazed that there was no sign at all on my ass of what I then thought was a severe beating. I told Winston a tooth was bothering me.

----

A bright, sunny Southern California afternoon.

Driving a rented Ford Taurus, I made a wrong turn and got lost in the hills above Malibu until I finally managed to find my way back down to the coast highway, where I got directions at a gas station. I was in my street whore costume and got a look from the attendant.

I had canceled my meetings. This was not Brad's idea, but mine. He only told me he had something he wanted me to do when I was free, so I made myself free.

I was disappointed when I learned that I wasn't to be with him. I was being sent to make a porn video. Even with the wig, I wondered if someone somewhere wouldn't recognize me, then realized I truly didn't care anymore.

Brad told me flatly that the video guy was famous in the porn world for degrading women. Was he becoming soft like Winston, I thought, and letting other people be rougher with me than he wanted to be. I really needn't have worried, but I did then.

When I finally found the house near the top of a hill, I realized that the guy must be rich as well as famous. It was a rambling ranch style, and a Ferrari sat next to a Land Rover in an open garage.

I parked the Taurus near some lessor vehicles that belonged to the video crew, and walked up to the open front door, where I hesitated, then rang the bell.

A young skinny girl, carrying a clipboard and wearing baggy shorts and a tank top, and with the inevitable nose ring, came.

"You must be.."and she glanced down at the clipboard, "Uh...Vicki""

"Right."

"Come on in. You're late. He doesn't like that. They're all set up by the pool."

She led me through a couple of pleasant and airy rooms to a patio, complete with Weber grill and small swimming pool. More people than I expected were there, seven or eight. A couple with cameras; another fiddling with what looked like an amplifier. The others with no obvious function. No one looked up, until the skinny girl said, "She's finally here, Rex."

I thought, angrily, Get off it. I'm not that late. A few minutes. But remembered my place. I was just some slut trying to break into porn, sent out by an agent Brad knew.

Having no idea which one of them was the star, I faced them.