A Stimulating Life Ch. 04

Slave training was degrading, physically painful and sometimes scary, however, I was assured that the harshness of my training was necessary in order to get me into the proper "slave mindset" before I was allowed to be sold at auction.

Constant punishments had left me fearful of doing anything that might earn me additional spankings, whippings or other penalties. And the drugs that kept me constantly sexually aroused had left me hungry for my naked body to be touched. I was constantly eager to be caressed, fondled, penetrated, stroked, pinched, kissed, or touched in any way. The drug left me tormented and in sexual need.

And the day before the slave auction, I was ordered to serve at a party. Every single guest at that party was a potential bidder, so as I served the guests they had a classic opportunity to examine me and decide how much they were willing to bid on me.

I was ordered to report to the bartender at the north end of the room and take orders directly from her until the party was over. As I walked over to the ornate bar, I noticed that there were at least ten other naked slaves in the room. Most of them were carrying serving trays and offering drinks or canapes to the guests. I noticed that every slave in the room had buttocks that were blushing a painful shade of red.

My own buttocks were sore and throbbing. Before I had been sent to serve at this party, I had been vigorously spanked with a leather paddle. I hadn't done anything to merit a punishment. My overseers just wanted my ass to be red and tender.

The bartender was a tall, angular woman in a starched, white dress shirt, a black vest and a black bowtie. She looked me over and explained my duties.

"I'll give you a tray with drinks on it," she explained, "Do not drop the tray under any circumstances. The guests tonight are going to grab your cock, finger your ass and other things that could make you wobbly. There are tables and shelves located all about the room. If the guests are doing something that might cause you to fumble the tray, find a place to set the tray down before you drop it."

Then she set out a silver tray with seven crimson drinks, served in cocktail glasses. A single cherry floated in each glass.

"Now take the tray and walk slowly around the room. Hold the tray directly in front of you and make it easy for guests to take a drink from the tray. Don't speak to anyone unless spoken to. Don't make direct eye contact with anyone other than me. And if you must speak, address all the women as mistress and all the men as master. You got that?"

"Yes, Mistress," I replied timidly and the bartender smiled.

"You and I will get along just fine," she said as I picked up my tray, "After the guests have drank up all of those, come back and I'll give you more drinks to serve. Also, those glasses aren't cheap. Bring the empty ones back."

The guests seemed more interested in playing with my naked body than they did in the cocktails I was ferrying around. My balls were fondled, my asshole was fingered and the tip of my cock was pinched before I managed to give away my first drink.

There were dozens of wealthy men and women, dressed to the nines while I moved among them, stark naked, red-assed and with my cock shamefully hard and erect. And as the bartender warned me, they repeatedly grabbed me, pinched me and did all manner of things that made it precarious for me to be holding a tray with costly cocktail glasses.

At one point, a tall woman in an expensive black dress placed one hand on her hip, gestured with the other in my general direction and imperiously said, "Slave, put down that tray and get your cute ass over here!"

I stopped what I was doing and turned towards her. Two other slaves standing near me did the same thing. Every slave in the room had a cute ass and most of us were carrying trays. There was a moment of confusion as all three of us froze and waited for her to specify which slave she was addressing.

"The blonde slave," she elaborated, and then she added, "Slave number thirteen."

All the slaves had had tags attached to their collars the day before. Julia was number twelve, I was number thirteen. Nari was number seventeen. When the slave auction commenced, we would be sold in numerical order, using the numbers on our tags to determine who would be auctioned off first, who would be auctioned off second, third, fourth, etc.

I set down my tray and approached the woman, careful not to make direct eye contact. The woman in the expensive black dress had an American accent, however as I approached, I noticed she was flanked by a well-dressed man and a woman in royal blue evening dress. Her companions both had posh British accents.

"Stop," the woman in royal blue said, and then added, "Clasp your hands together at the back of your neck and spread your legs wide."

Obediently, I raised my arms and intertwined my fingers behind my neck and spread my legs indecently far apart. It was a position that left me extremely vulnerable, with my chest, abdomen and wantonly erect cock as exposed as possible. It made me feel like a degraded, naked spectacle, which was almost certainly what the elegant woman wanted when she ordered me to stand this way.

The woman with the British accent scrutinized me, slowly moving her eyes up and down my naked body, studying every inch of me.

"His legs are extraordinary," she commented, "He's got legs like a dancer."

"I'm more impressed with the size of his cock," the American woman said.

The three elegant people surrounded me and proceeded to touch me all over, inspecting me with their hands.

As the American woman leaned in intimately close to me, the bewitching sent of her perfume filled my nostrils. She placed one hand on my bare chest and with the other, she reached between my legs, and cupped my balls. She lifted them up and held them like that for several seconds as if trying to determine their weight. And when she was finished examining my balls, she gripped the shaft of my cock.

"It's so hard," she said as she tightened her grip, "It's like iron! Victoria, grab his cock, feel how hard it is!"

I dutifully stood there with my hands clasped together at the back of my neck as the second woman grabbed the shaft of cock. And while she kept a tight grip on my throbbing member, the well-dressed Englishman ran his hands up and down the curves of my buttocks.

"His ass is perfect," the young man said as he felt me up, "His glutes are hard and firm, like an athlete, like a sprinter or an Olympic class diver."

"Or a dancer?" said the woman holding my cock, "I read his file, Kenneth. He's a professional ballet dancer, with the Chandler Theatre. The merciless way choreographers work ballet dancers, it's no wonder his ass is perfect."

"A ballet dancer," Kenneth said as he kneaded my buttocks, "I've always wanted to fuck a ballet dancer, ever since I saw that one on stage in New York."

"You mean the one who was almost naked?" the American woman asked.

"He was wearing a spandex loincloth," Kenneth replied. Then he snapped on some latex gloves and pried my buttocks apart. I moaned as he spent an inordinate amount of time examining the tender, pink flesh of my anus. And then I gasped as I felt fingertips pressing into me, trying to force my sphincter to open.

"If you're going to stick things inside of him, you should use lube," Victoria suggested, "There's some in my purse."

Victoria continued to play with my cock while Kenneth smeared cold, oily lubricant across my anus and pushed a greasy finger into me, opening me up.

Victoria advised her friend to use more lubricant, and within seconds my anus was well oiled and two greasy fingers being pushed into my rectum. Being impaled on those fingers filled me with even greater feelings of helplessness and I gasped as my cock twitched and throbbed uncontrollably.

"He sounds like he's about to climax," Kenneth said as his fingers invaded my body and probed deep, "You'd best stand back. With balls as remarkable as his, there's going to be a lot of jissom erupting out of his cock."

"He can't climax, none of the slaves can," Victoria informed her companion, "They're all on some sort of drug. Beverly told me about it."

"So, no matter how much I stimulate his libido, he can never find sexual release?"

"That's the way the drug works, Kenneth," she replied, and then Kenneth's insistent fingers worked harder at stimulating my libido.

I panted and jerked my hips as his lubricated fingers probed deep inside me. Kenneth located my prostrate easily and then he eagerly began the task of rubbing his fingertips across my sensitive flesh. I whimpered, moaned and felt my anal muscles tighten around his fingers.

The British lady then took her bottle of lubricant and used it to polish my cock until it was slippery and glistening with oils. She stroked and squeezed my cock while Kenneth stimulated my prostate gland. Between the two of them I was gasping and shaking uncontrollably.

There was an intense throbbing deep within my loins, but I obediently kept my hands where they were and my legs obscenely far apart. I squirmed as my prostate was pumped by devious fingers and I was brought to the edge of a powerful orgasm, but the drug in my system made ejaculation impossible.

"That is ingenious," said the young man as he continued to finger my asshole, "I mean it's bloody cruel, but it's ingenious. It's so much more clever than things like chastity belts."

A crowd formed and my whole body trembled and tears welled up in my eyes as one agonizing wave of desire after another passed through my body, but the orgasm I so desperately needed was denied.

Not wishing to be left out, the American woman pinched my nipples, then she pulled an ice cube from a cocktail glass and rubbed it across my nipples before pinching them again.

The way she abused my nipples hurt, but the agony of orgasm denial was far more intense. My cock throbbed and it was so swollen that it ached. I almost expected it to explode, like a balloon that's been overinflated.

"That look on his face is adorable," Kenneth said when he was finally done probing my ass, "He looks so fetching. I'm going to buy him."

Kenneth sounded so confident that I would soon become his slave, however, that same day, three different women in elegant attire said the same thing. It wasn't possible for all four people to own me. Someone was going to go home disappointed.

I worked at that party for hours, although I didn't serve many drinks. Mostly, I was fondled, ogled, pinched and probed. There were so many eyes one me, so many swats on my tender ass, so many hands grabbing at my naked flesh, so many hands parting my ass, so many fingers forcing my anus open.

One woman even brought a medical bag full of flesh-colored dildos, and she used one of the thickest ones to spear my asshole.

It was made of silicone, it had a realistic-looking head, bulging veins and the shaft had to be at least two inches thick. She had me bend over a table, spread my legs pornographically far apart and she thrust the silicone cock in my anus and raped me with violent thrusts as rough as any man.

"The look of suffering on his face is so adorable," she told one of her nearby friends, "I do believe he's about to cry."

Dozens of naked slaves were on display at the party, to be abused, ogled, raped and tormented, however, the most memorable slave at the party that night was Andrea.

Andrea was exceptionally beautiful, I mean all the slaves were, but her beauty managed to stand out in a room full of beautiful men and women. She had shoulder length red hair, a smooth creamy complexion, a slender waist, a lean, supple body, dancer's legs and firm, round breasts that never seemed to droop or sag.

About two hours into the party, a uniformed security guard dragged Andrea in on a leash. The creamy flesh of Andrea's buttocks was blushing a painful shade of red it seemed to me that she had whip marks emblazoned on the backs of her thighs.

She was led to a small wooden stage with vertical poles jutting up from the base. She was made to stand between the poles and tied there spread-eagled. The tension in Andrea's body was palpable and she had a panicky look on her face.

"Honored guests," a woman in a skirt-suit called out after Andrea was secured and helpless, "this insolent slave is in need of your attention."

The woman had a loud, commanding voice and soon everyone turned their attention towards her. When she was certain she had an attentive audience, she continued.

"This slave is heterosexually-inclined and earlier today she made a disrespectful comment that was insulting to lesbians. As you can imagine, we will not allow this slave to be sold until she has paid a penance for what she's done."

The slaves in the room responded to this announcement with looks of apprehension, while the well-dressed guests looked eager to hear more.

"We have decided on a fitting punishment. As this woman has shown contempt for sapphic relations, tonight she will be denied the touch of men and will only know the touch of women. Any woman here tonight who wishes to teach this bad girl a lesson, please form a line."

Women in elegant evening gowns began to step forward and then the woman in the skirt suit loudly called out, "Any female who wishes, to teach her a lesson, you are also welcome to get in line. Our bartender, our female security personnel, even the female slaves are encouraged to take part. This bad girl has given offense to all lesbians everywhere."

Most of the women, both slave and free, got into the line to punish Andrea. Most of them men watched with great interest. I was supposed to be handing out drinks, but even I spent a great deal of time watching. It was the main event of the evening.

And while some women pinched Andrea's nipples, spanked her ass or slapped her breasts, the vast majority of the women preferred to torment Andrea in a way that was perhaps far more wicked. One after another, each woman raped her.

Some women placed their hands between Andrea's widespread thighs and probed her vagina with their fingers, others got down on their knees and licked at her swollen labia or sucked on her hard clitoris. The important thing to remember here is that Andrea (like all the slaves) had been injected with a drug that made it impossible to achieve sexual release.

Whether is was women fingering her pussy or women licking her clit, Andrea was repeatedly raped. Her legs were bound far apart, and her hips writhed in a shameful manner as her libido was cruelly stimulated. She begged for forgiveness, she begged for her punishment to end, but her pleadings were ignored. She groaned in agony as she was flooded with sexual desire, with no way to satisfy it.

___

After the party, I was led away and locked in my cell. After witnessing Andrea's public torment, my head was reeling, and my emotions were on edge. I was a slave, just like Angela. I could be forced to suffer just like her.

I was in an apprehensive state of mind, and thus became instantly disconcerted when the metal security door opened, and Doctor Holloway entered. She arrived with a security guard and medical assistant and ordered all the slaves to assume the waiting pose.

Reflexively, we obeyed. Julia, Peter, Judy and I instantly stood up in our cells, standing with our legs spread far apart, our hands behind our backs, our shoulders back, and our chests thrust forward. My heart pounded urgently in my chest as I assumed Doctor Holloway was there to inflict some sort of cruel and undeserved suffering upon us.

As it turns out, my assumption was wrong.

"The four of you will be sold at auction tomorrow," Doctor Holloway began, "In the past, we've had slaves experience panic attacks right before the auction. Nobody wants to buy a slave who's having a panic attack. It is therefore our policy to counsel each of the slaves on the night before to keep them from having extreme emotional episodes and being immobilized by fear."

A lot of tension drained out of Julia's body as she heard Doctor Holloway's announcement and expelled the breath that she'd been holding. She had obviously been expecting that the news from Doctor Holloway was going to be something dreadful and was relieved to see that she was wrong.

"All four of you are in excellent health and you are going to stay that way," Doctor Holloway assured us. I know this because the people who will be bidding on you go through a vetting process very similar to the one, we put the slaves through. We check all potential buyers for drug addictions, sexually transmitted diseases, and other medical problems. We also make certain they don't have a criminal record, and slave-owners have to fall within a certain age group. Nobody under eighteen is allowed to purchase slaves from the Vineyard, and nobody over the age of forty."

I did find that information somewhat comforting. The idea of a seventy-year old man or woman fondling my naked body and sexually abusing me was disquieting. The fact that they could be no older than forty put some of my fears to rest.

And then Doctor Holloway continued with the following information, "In the past we've noticed that slaves often find it impossible to sleep the night before an auction. It is therefore our policy to drug each of the slaves on the night before, in order to force you to get some sleep."

One by one, Doctor Holloway entered our cells and drugged us. After I was drugged, the doctor removed my slave collar and her assistant pressed something cold and metallic to the back of my neck and I felt a sharp, sudden pain and heard a mechanical sounding Ka-chunk noise.

"I just injected you with a tracking chip," Doctor Holloway's assistant explained. "It's nothing to be concerned about. It's just underneath the skin. After a day or two you won't even be able to see the mark where it was injected."

"It's a standard precaution," Doctor Holloway added, "It sends out a beacon that our security personnel can detect. It means that we can always find you, no matter where you go."

My slave collar was buckled once again around my throat and I was ordered to lie down on my bed. I wondered if the tracking chip was meant to track runaway slaves that attempted to flee from their masters, but the drug made me sleepy and it didn't take long for me to drift off to the land of Morpheus.

___

When I awoke, it was morning and slaves were being rounded up and dragged to the shower room to be washed and groomed. It was the day of the auction, so they were exceptionally thorough. I was given three enemas, instead of just one. The people who shaved me made absolutely certain not to leave behind any stubble as they shaved my cock, my balls and the rest of my body.

The other slaves were in the shower room being groomed at the same time as me. Everywhere I looked I was surrounded by naked buttocks, vulvas, breasts, hard nipples and erect cocks. The air in the room practically thrummed with sexual tension.

When the slaves were thoroughly groomed and presentable, we were all herded to a room backstage. A security guard in a sharp-looking uniform barked orders at us and organized the slaves into something resembling a line. We were told not to touch each other as we waited backstage, however the conditions were something like forty slaves backstage and we didn't have enough space for social distancing. Several times I ended up with my chest pressed against the slave in front of me and a few times her buttocks brushed against my cock.

Naked, we had been marched into the room and my courage faltered. I was gripped by a fluttery panic that made my heart pound excitedly and made my throat feel parched. And I wasn't the only one. I caught sight of a slave with eyes glistening with the sheen of welled up tears, I caught sight of another slave who was visibly trembling with the dread knowledge that she was about to be sold.