The Final Lot

The Ultimate Lot

Mike and Sarah were rich. Their wealth was largely inherited, but their business was also successful, and with wealth and success came social responsibility. Mike and Sarah were good people, and had always contributed to good causes, however they were now part of the 'business community' and keen to establish their names. The best way to do this, they felt, was to be proactive about social responsibility, to not only contribute, but to use their profile to actively raise money. So it was that they decided to hold their charity auction night.

The premise was simple. Business colleagues were asked to donate goods and services which would be auctioned off to invited guests at an exclusive party at their vast home.

Their house was, quite simply, enormous. As well as a swimming pool and home cinema, it featured three enormous reception rooms, eight bedrooms and four bathrooms. It had a study, a sauna/steam room and a 'man-cave'. There was more, much more, but this gives a general idea. Their home was vast and they were vastly wealthy.

Mike and Sarah were known as the perfect couple. They had everything, seemed very much in love and needed no-one else. Add to this the fact that they were beautiful. Mike was tall, handsome and athletic. His photography business featured many A-listers in its portfolio, and he had a reputation for getting the shots no-one else could. For some reason, megastars would happily undress for him, and he had produced some of the best known images of naked film stars, pop divas and sports superheroes in the world.

It was in part because he was handsome, but also because Sarah would always be present at his shoots, and while she herself had never been naked for the camera (except for their private collection, of course) she would make these household names feel so relaxed and comfortable that being naked became the most natural thing in the world.

Sarah could, in truth, have been a model herself, had she been a little taller. Her face had delicate, almost symmetrical features, perfectly proportioned, framed by her black hair. Her skin was the colour of coffee, a result of a father from Barbados, who she had never met, and a mother from Ireland -- the original Irish rose.

She was slim, athletic and toned, with firm breasts and buttocks which curved out sufficiently to catch the eye, but not sufficiently to make eyes pop. To all, apart from those closest to her (personally and professionally), her body was a mystery. Despite looks which many might have been tempted to share, she kept herself covered, saving her delights for Mike,

Not that she was a prude, as her willingness to encourage celebrities to disrobe for the camera demonstrated. She wore flattering clothing, tailored to her shape which highlighted her curves, but did not expose flesh. Even on the beach, she had a preference for one-piece swimming costumes and a sarong over her legs. However, when working with Mike, she could approach the latest Oscar winner, eyes gleaming and say:

'Oh, you should try it. Being naked with the camera is the greatest thrill ever. Mike will make you the most beautiful person in the world and... well...' here she would blush, darkening her natural skin tone, and look down as if slightly embarrassed, 'it feels so sexy. Perhaps just a tiny bit of mystery left. You'll have more fans than ever.'

It was an act, of course, designed to get Mike the greatest shots, but her appeal to their natural vanity, their most basic urges and their desperation for fame rarely, if ever, failed. As a result, she saw more celebrity nipples, world-famous vaginas and infamous penises than anyone else in the world, except, of course, her husband.

Often, the exposure was a consequence of a hope that photographer and wife might want to indulge in a threesome -- or more sometimes -- but it never happened, and the couple remained monogamous and revered for their ability to stay chaste in the face of temptation.

Yet there was no real temptation. Sarah looked as good as any movie startlet and Mike was as athletic as any Olympic medal winner. He was also better endowed than most and incredibly creative in bed.

After a shoot, the couple would leave the celebrity, often desperate to get home and fuck their partner(s) till they could barely walk, and rush to their own bedroom. Here they would strip naked and suck and fuck each other until they collapsed exhausted. Then Mike would grab his camera, and Sarah would pose -- not the modest glamour shots of the celebrities, but hard core, pornographic poses.

She would pull her vulva wide, insert sex toys and objects, stick her buttocks in the air and insert toys and objects into her anus, She would masturbate wantonly and love every second of Mike's eyes on her and the clicking camera. Then he would join in, having recovered from their initial coupling, and the camera would click automatically as he fucked her in every position in the Karma Sutra (yes, they had a copy and had worked through it), they sucked and licked every part of each other's bodies (yes -- EVERY part) before the money shot, captured in graphic detail wherever it fell in, on or near her body.

The demure wife and staid husband were, indeed whores in the bedroom, unknown to anyone but each other, and they loved it.

However, their business was essential, and part of their appeal was contributing to their community and the less well off. It was a major part of their appeal, and often, with more reticent celebrities, a promise to donate half of the profits from naked images to charity was the persuasion which tipped the balance and saw the panties final come off.

And so it was, that at 8pm on the 18^th August, they were dressed in all their finery, ready for the 'Giant Charity Auction' held in the theatre at their home.

Mike wore the requisite dress suit and bow tie, perfectly fitted by his personal tailor, but uncomfortable for him, given his preference for t-shirts with band logos or slogans, and jeans from the local supermarket. Sarah, however, felt magnificent in her designer gown, perfectly fitted and demure, yet sufficiently figure hugging to draw admiring and lascivious stares from men as they arrived and jealous (maybe also lascivious) glances from their partners. She had accessorised her look with black opera gloves up to her elbow, and a black feather boa -- the latter partly for effect, but also because it would hang over her breasts and mask her figure.

The bidders at the auction (and also the contributors) were the totally rich. Businessmen and aristocrats, some public faces known to the world, others utterly unknown, hiding behind their wealth, yet the puppeteers who pulled strings and could manipulate entire countries with one stroke of a pen or a casual word in the right ear.

Mike and Sarah loathed them. They despised their arrogance, hated their self-importance and utterly reviled the sense of personal dominion which these autocrats held over people and possessions alike. Most of all, they hated the fact that if each of these people donated ten percent of their wealth, or forewent one parachute jump from space or a balloon trip around the world, they could alleviate the suffering of millions. As the guests arrived, Mike and Sarah stood on the steps of their home and listened.

Inevitably, one of the main sounds was the voices of the self-important. It was something they had noted before -- when successful people gather, they seem driven to compete. Many are arrogant, and many seem to assume that they should be pandered to and have their every whim catered for.

Sarah, especially disliked being in the company of these people. They would openly gaze at her body, mentally undressing her, making her feel naked and vulnerable -- not as Mike did, when she stripped for him. Then she felt sexy, horny as hell and wanted to used, fucked till she was sore. Being naked then was good, and she often dreamed of being naked for a group of men who could fantasize over her and wank themselves blind, while she simply walked to Mike and went somewhere private with him for the fucking of a lifetime.

Not only did these people gaze, but they would touch -- not sexually, but controllingly -- on her shoulder, her arm, her waist. In crowds, she had felt her breasts and buttocks jostled in a way which was anything but accidental. She had also been fondled and groped in situations where the perpetrator could remain anonymous. Only once had she caught the person responsible and told Mike. Mike had used the crowded room to sneak up behind the man and grab his hand before breaking three of his fingers. The man had squealed like a stuck pig, and while he could never openly accuse Mike, he knew who was responsible and why.

One might have thought that after this, word would spread and Sarah would be left alone, but no. These people thought it was funny, and seemed to take every opportunity to taunt her and Mike. Her greatest fear was that one day they would find a way to get her alone, and then the gropes and touches would turn to something much, much worse.

As they walked down the steps it was notable that groups of men were nudging one another and heads turned. One moron even shouted: 'Give us a twirl, Sarah.' She ignored them and took Mike's arm, avoiding eye contact. What irritated Sarah even more, I think, was that all this happened in the presence of their wives, many of whom looked openly embarrassed.

The weather being warm and sunny, Mike and Sarah had opted to set up tables outside and serve drinks to their guests, giving time for the staff inside to set up the auction room as the wanted. The guests had been asked to contribute lots, and while some had donated goods, others provided services which could be bid for in the form of vouchers. Mike had donated a half day photoshoot.

Surveying the gathering, Mike decided that he had allowed sufficient time for the great and the not so great to arrive, and nodded to his Master of Ceremonies. It was time to go inside and view the lots.

The M.C. tapped the microphone, and as the guests settled, began his announcement:

'My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen, Mike and Sarah would like you to proceed to the Saleroom where you may view the available lots this evening. We ask that you consider, while browsing, the purpose of the evening, and reach deep into your pockets to support the charities which will benefit from your generosity. Please follow the signs, and enjoy the next half hour considering your purchases.'

Mike led the way to the theatre/auction room, and while others spread out to view the available lots, he approached the stage, followed by Sarah.

'Shit,' he muttered, 'I fucking hate speaking in public. It's alright for this lot with their posh dinners and board meetings. I just can't do it.'

Sarah placed a gentle hand on his arm.

'Don't worry,' she soothed, 'all you need to do is thank them for coming, tell them they've got another fifteen minutes browsing and then the buffet in the dining room and ten minutes about the charities from Martin. After that, it's back here and you can put your feet up.'

She kissed his cheek and smiled.

Holding hands, they approached the auctioneer.

'Hi Norman, all good?' asked Mike.

'I think so,' responded the tall, balding auctioneer, 'but I'm a bit concerned.'

The auctioneer had been an acquaintance of Mike's for some years, and was quite a character. To see him worried was rare. Looking around the room, he continued.

'Look at them. Do you know what they're doing?' Mike and Sarah looked bemused, so Norman continued. 'Those tight bastards are on their phones checking online prices for this stuff so they don't overpay. And look, look -- they're using tactics. Seeing who else is interested and fixing the bidding. This isn't about generosity. They're just after stuff on the cheap.'

Mike was no expert in interpreting the room like Norman, but as he looked and read the body language, he suspected that the auctioneer was right.

'Tight bastards,' he spat between gritted teeth, 'is there anything we can do?'

Norman shrugged. 'Not unless you've got something which can't be bought. Some kind of special, one-off lot.'

'Maybe I should auction a flash of my tits,' muttered Sarah. Mike smiled at her.

'That'd make their year,' he grinned.

'Well...'whispered Sarah, moving close and rubbing her body against him, 'you'd love it if I did.'

Mike thought about it, picturing his wife's perfect breasts on display to the gawping collection of billionaires milling around tables below him. He started to get a little hard.

'I didn't think I would,' he mumbled, ' but just move in a little and feel what happened.'

Sarah moved her body close and rubbed against him, her hip pushing against his unmistakable erection.

She smiled and gave him her most seductive eyes

'Hmm... let's see how it goes. It'd be so cool to think of them all wanking off over me when I know that not one of them can touch -- and you and I can be fucking like rabbits.'

Their mutual flirting was cut short by Norman.

'Bad to worse. Now my porter's gone. She should have been here ten minutes ago and just called to say she's been in an accident. She's ok, but it looks like she's broken an arm and is on the way to hospital. Could one of the catering staff do it. It's dead simple. Just carry out the lots, show them to each side of the stage and put it on the table in the centre. Anyone young and pretty will do -- eye candy works best, whether it's sexist or not.'

'I'll do it!' Exclaimed Sarah. 'I've been desperate to help. I can't offer a lot for charity, but at least I can do this.'

Mike looked at her, wondering if this linked to their earlier conversation, which he had dismissed as fantasy, fun though it was.

'Good idea,' he agreed, 'with you up there we'll know these pervs are checking out the lots, anyway.'

'And other things,' agreed Sarah, tartly.

Norman threw his arms around her. 'You're a lifesaver,' he intoned in his sonorous, auction voice, and led Sarah away to talk her through her role.

Mike went to the small pulpit with the microphone to the side of the stage and began his announcement:

'Hello, hello...' he began uncertainly, as eyes turned to him, 'Hi. Firstly, thanks for coming and donating your... er... time and goods for this wonderful cause. I hope you're all feeling generous for the auction. Er.. you've got another fifteen minutes looking round here, then the buffet in the dining room and a presentation about the charities, then it's in here again for the auction with Norman in charge and Sarah helping.'

There were wolf whistles and various catcalls: 'Give us a flash, Sarah... tits out for the lads... how much for a quickie?'

Mike was irritated and looked at Sarah, who was gazing at the floor with gritted teeth, determination and anger in her eyes as she looked up at her tormentors, suddenly reverting to the sweetest of smiles. She looked at Mike, raised an eyebrow and gave a little nod. Their telepathy was almost uncanny, and Mike knew exactly what she meant. She was asking permission.

He nodded, smiling back, and feeling his erection grow. He returned to the mic.

'So, fifteen minutes. Thanks.'

For those fifteen minutes, he decided to circulate, partly in an effort to boost the evening's income, and partly to see if Norman's concerns were valid.

Although most tried to hide their activities, it was clear what was going on. Norman was absolutely right. People were checking the costs of items with online sellers, and plotting with others -- the main idea was to find items both were interested in and agree not to bid against one another, hence driving the price down. Mike was disgusted.

After fifteen minutes, everyone went to eat at the buffet, and Mike and Sarah split up to spend time with their guests. Sarah spent time with the ladies mostly, avoiding the suggestive comments and third rate flirting of the men, while Mike occupied the men with stories about naked pop stars and actresses, which to him was simply work, but to them was wanking material for a week.

After a brief presentation from the charity, everyone returned to the theatre for the auction, all the lots now set up on the stage.

The guests took their seats at large, round tables. Norman went to the 'pulpit' and Sarah on the side of the stage. Mike, meanwhile took a seat behind a wall, to the side of the stage, where he could observe proceedings. Sarah caught his eye and winked.

'Ladies and Gentlemen,' intoned Norman, now in role as ring master and auctioneer, 'welcome, welcome to this evening of fun, of pleasure and above all of generosity. I shall announce each item, and my assistant Sarah will bring them on, show you what you are buying and place said item in the centre of the stage. May I remind you that this is for charity, and every single item on the stage, with the exception of any humans, is available for purchase.' He smiled across at Sarah.

'Very well. Lot number one. A magnificent photoshoot with our host. Maybe a family portrait, a new one of the kids, or perhaps something naughty for a loved one's birthday.' He met the eyes of several ladies in the room, who either blushed or met his eye and raised eyebrows suggestively.

'Very well. A reminder, there are no reserves tonight, so who will start me off?'

'50 pounds!'

'60'

'75'

Mike was stunned. The rate for what he was offering, a three hour shoot, full editing, ownership of the images and ten prints would cost, at a bare minimum £500 -- even that would be a special favour to friends who he knew could afford no more - so what was the game here? Maybe the price would work its way up, or perhaps these people simply had no idea of the value of his work. A photographer with his skill and profile would cost them £1000 for an hour's shoot with all the editing and he knew people of their profile would not want him to own the images, as they could be sold for a fortune.

He tuned in again, in time to hear Norman.

'Surely we can manage a little more -- photographer to the stars, your own personal images, the envy of your friends -- could be the best birthday present ever for some lucky chap, madam.'

He gazed around the room, before shrugging his shoulders and resigning himself to the outcome.

'Very well. Sold for £260, to the gentleman with the stylish hair.'

His last comment was very barbed. The purchaser was a well-known property developer, whose 'associates' happily joked behind his back at the rather obvious hairpiece which he believed to be invisible.

As Mike watched, the purchaser was clapped on the back and had his hand shaken by several other guests. At this point, Mike recognised his mistake. He had offered a three hour shoot, but not limited the numbers of people involved. He was confident now, that he would end up with half a dozen of the parasites wanting a half hour shoot each. They had set this up. No wonder they were rich. They made money by working scams, conning people and by being cheap, money grabbing bastards. He seethed, silently.

As Sarah carried out the second lot, showed it to the buyers and placed it on the raised plinth in the centre of the room, she smiled sweetly and added an extra wiggle to her walk before joining Mike at the side of the stage.

'I'm going to do it.' She hissed. 'I know we said it'd be ok, but I'm going to do it and take these shits for every penny they've got. Then, I'm going to look at them and say: 'Now I'm going to fuck my husband'.'

Mike nodded. 'I'm good with that. And we had the 'no photography' rule on the invites. That was to protect them from the media. If a single image appears, I'll sue them for every last penny and drag them so deep into the dirt that their precious businesses will be dead and buried in a matter of weeks. You OK with that? I want it to happen.'