The Final Lot

'God yes,' replied Sarah, 'Norman's on our side. We'll say it was his fuck up, saying every item was for sale -- he won't mind -- and they started talking legal shit unless my clothes were included. Let's fuck these bastards properly -- and let them know they're never going to fuck me.'

Mike was proud. He knew she was not ashamed of her body, knew she had the same view as him, that the human body was a thing of beauty and should be appreciated, not slavered over and drooled at like some modern day priapic satyrs.

He would not have wanted her to 'sell' herself like this normally, but he believed in the causes they were supporting and knew that the money they would raise from both auctioning her clothes and the subsequent court cases (oh yes -- they would take photographs, and couldn't resist the cash the media would offer for them, albeit a drop in the ocean to them) would make the lives of thousands of children better, might save millions from horrific deaths as a result of the research it was supporting, might even secure the release of thousands of innocent people, held in prison solely because they spoke out against the atrocities of their Governments.

The only time he would feel more pride was when Sarah stood naked before their guests and told them to go fuck themselves -- or maybe go have a wank because they weren't getting near her, and their wives would have to be mad to let them anywhere near. He wondered if their pathetic drooling might invalidate their pre-nuptial agreements and free their trophy wives with big settlements, which would be fun, but guessed it would not. Anyway, by the time he had finished, they wouldn't have enough left to make it worthwhile.

They tuned in to the auction once more.

Norman was almost begging now, far from his usual joking, witty repartee which was the hallmark of his trade.

'Come now, this is worth far more. Remember, please, this is for charity. Dig deep, ladies and gentlemen.'

There was no response, beyond a stubborn refusal to accede to his pleading as the assembled business people stared him down.

The lot in question was a beach chalet, worth hundreds of thousands, donated by the property developer. It had seemed incredibly generous at the time, but Mike now suspected that the auction had been set up from well before this night.

A couple of the wealthy female business people had tried to drive the price up, their intentions being more pure, perhaps -- and their memberships of certain all male clubs having been rejected, but a quiet word to them about how their own businesses might suffer, and they had been rapidly silenced.

The beach chalet sold for £120,000. It was worth three times that, and Mike had hoped for half a million, considering it was for charity. Again, the nature of the offer made it easy to recognise the angle. One person bought it and let it out to others at reduced cost. They all benefitted from the cheap purchase.

And so it continued. Each item selling for absurdly low prices, Norman becoming more and more flustered and visibly distressed.

As they approached the final lot, Mike tiptoed up behind Norman and tapped his shoulder. Norman spun rapidly, as if the touch was an electric shock.

'I'm so sorry Mike. I told you...'

'Sh. Forget it, mate.' Mike instructed. 'Something's about to happen. It's gonna seem weird, but go with it and really work it. We're gonna screw these for a fucking fortune. Just let it happen -- all the way -- but don't sell the humans!'

Norman looked unsure. 'OK. But I think I know what's gonna happen. If you're OK with it and Sarah's OK...' he looked across at Sarah, who was watching the two men intently. She looked Norman in the eye and nodded. 'Well. She seems happy. If she's good with it, so am I. Let's let it happen.'

The final lot was sold and Norman began winding up proceedings, waiting for the expected suggestion from the tight fisted buyers, who had humiliated Mike and Sarah, but were, he knew, about to have their bluff called.

'Thank you, ladies and gentlemen for your er... purchases. That concludes the evening's...'

'What about Sarah?' Shouted a voice from the crowd.

'Yeah,' chipped in another, 'everything on the stage, you said.'

'No, no,' returned Norman, 'not the people, that was clear.'

'How about her clothes?' Intoned a confident middle-aged man. 'They're not human, and according to the verbal contract...'

'Surely, sir,' Norman spat the last word, a respectful title, denied of any respect, 'even you wouldn't seek to embarrass a young lady simply to satisfy your lust.'

The man was a solicitor who made his money by keeping the leaders of organised crime out of prison on the most ridiculous technicalities. It was clear that he had briefed others.

'Absolutely,' chimed in another voice, 'if that's the law, so be it. Shame for these charities to lose their money in a court case.'

Some buyers looked appalled, and there was a thinning of the audience as the moral minority left. Mike found it reassuring that there were still a few good people.

'Well.' Norman pretended to look baffled and looked to Mike for guidance. Mike shook his head, also faking his response. Norman looked to Sarah, whose performance was less convincing, but sufficient to convince the dogs in the audience, drunk as they were on free wine and whisky along with a helping of lust.

'It seems we are as without choice as you are without morals.' Stated Norman, surveying the men, and noting how uncomfortable their partners looked, though apparently too brow-beaten to protest. He pitied them. They would leave, knowing they would have to fuck their men, but knowing that the men would be thinking of Sarah, not them. A pathetic recipe for a marriage. Norman hoped some of them would have the guts to cross their legs tonight and walk out in the morning. Seeing some of them shake themselves free and walk out to the entrance hall to wait, he suspected some of them may just be filing for divorce quite soon.

'This will occur, one item at a time, and there will be a reserve, decided by Sarah. She will submit this in writing to me prior to this... debacle. Nothing will be sold until her reserve is reached. Those are my conditions.'

'Very well,' called back the solicitor, ' in which case, we insist that each item be removed with style and a smile.'

Norman shook his head. 'You're buying items, not performance, but I'm sure Sarah will do her best. I would also remind you that photography and recording of any sort is forbidden. This was originally for your protection, now it is for hers.'

Sarah, however, after handing over the reserve prices, moved to the centre of the stage, swinging her hips and holding the boa wide across her shoulders. She was a trained dancer, and an expert in executing her moves.

She pulled the boa against her breasts, rubbing them with it, swaying as if in pleasure, before turning to present her perfect backside to the group, holding the boa stretched behind her. She turned, gathering it beneath her chin, wide-eyed and innocent, before once more becoming seductive.

'£50'

'60'

'100'

The bidding proceeded, only slowing at £1000, as Sarah danced, posed and seduced around the stage, drawing bids.

Only now did Sarah show an inclination to part with the boa, dangling it towards the bidders, leading them to a final price of £1200. A good start, but more was to come. The bidders expected the reserve to rocket as they reached more intimate items, but they knew they would reach it. Their wealth was notorious and what they wanted, they got.

'Next,' boomed Norman, 'Sarah's left glove.'

Again, as bids arrived, Sarah performed -- one finger at a time, pulling off the glove, even pushing it inside her dress on to her breasts to inspire some bizarre passion or fetish.

Inevitably, the reserve for the glove was lower, and the price reached £500.

The right glove did rather better, as the purchaser of the left glove wanted a pair. Goaded by other bidders, he eventually paid £2000. Mike guessed he would wear them to wank in later.

The next items, both Mike and Sarah knew, would definitely do well. These were the left shoe, followed by the right shoe.

It is an odd fact that rich people often have fetishes, and they are sometimes less guarded about sharing these than those at the other end of the social scale, who might be considered freaks or perverts.

In this case, at least three bidders were known to be foot fetishists, and Sarah's shoes would be an unmissable prize. Also, they were expensive shoes -- designer made and costing well into four figures. It is also the case that fetishists are far less likely to share their trophies -- maybe because they have semen spilt on them -- so none of the previous price fixing was taking place now.

Sarah requested a chair, and while it was brought on, lifted her dress above her knee to show her shapely legs and model the shoes. She pointed her feet and wriggled her toes through the open ends, before returning to the chair. Here, she lifted her foot to the seat, giving anyone at the right angle a view of the stockings and suspender belt beneath. Mike had been aware of this -- Sarah hated tights. Apparently, they gave her 'sweaty pussy'. Also, a garter was on view -- an extra item, which might well sell profitably.

Sarah removed first one shoe, then the other -- it was to be the next lot, but she needed to be able to move, which would be impossible in just one high heel.

She danced to one side, then the other, showing the designer name in the shoes and the trademark soles, then bought each to her nose and sniffed. Mike thought this odd at first, then realised that smell was much valued by some foot fetishists, and suggesting that her scent was on the shoe was guaranteed to drive the price up.

Next, she sat again, and raised each foot, like a contortionist to her nose. This meant, again, exposing what awaited beneath her dress, and was calculated to draw greater bids in order to see more.

Mike was proud and loving the performance. Sarah was milking every penny from them, and when they saw her naked and were so horny they would have to crouch to hide their erections, she would walk to him and they would disappear. He wondered how their partners would deal with Sarah inspired hard-ons. Not happily, he hoped.

The first shoe sold for £15,000.

The second saw a bidding war -- partly between the buyer of the first shoe, whose trophy wife seemed to be making a great many promises if she could have both shoes (which were her size) after he had finished sniffing and wanking over them, and the other fetishists, for whom one shoe was better than none.

Clearly the threats of wife overcame perverse lusts. The original purchaser bagged the second shoe -- for £128,000. Still, it was a drop in the ocean to these people. He would probably have paid ten times that amount to silence his wife.

Next came a big decision. The least revealing route was the stockings, but losing the dress would leave Sarah with he full lingerie -- and Sarah in stockings and suspenders was an awesome sight. Mike suspected she would opt for this, and make sure the dress shot up in price, as the men bid to see her looking amazing.

It was then that something which he hadn't predicted happened.

One of the female entrepreneurs shouted from the back:

'£500 for Mike's jacket.'

He had, of course, been on stage the whole time, but it had never occurred that he might join his wife. The idea excited him enormously, and Sarah's encouraging look left him with an easy decision to make.

Norman seemed less certain, but as both participants nodded to him, he continued.

'Mike is also willing to go the extra mile for charity. The bid stands at £500...'

Mike was no dancer, and could not match Sarah's moves, however, she saw her cue and began to slide and pose around him, showing the label inside his jacket, running her hands over him, opening the jacket to show the label inside and rubbing her body against him.

The bids rose rapidly, not only from the wealthy female entrepreneurs, but also from the wives and partners of the men, now finding their own lechery turned against them. They may have decided that their financial superiority would ensure that their partners would have sex with them later while they pictured Sarah, but they might feel a little different, knowing that their partner was thinking of Mike.

At £2800, the jacket was purchased, and Sarah gleefully slipped it off Mike's shoulders before setting it down for collection. There were no perverse undertones with Mike's clothing as there had been with Sarah's -- these bidders were paying for the high class item itself and the body beneath -- and Mike was a good looking man. Sarah also knew that if he were stripped naked, the ladies (and some of the men) would be very impressed with his above average (in length and width) penis. She wondered if Mike would be able to avoid having an erection, but decided probably not.

Before any of the men could jump in with a bid for more of Sarah's clothing, there was a shout for Mike's bow tie, which was sold for £120 with minimal fuss.

Now all eyes turned to Sarah once more. She had reached a decision about which item to sell next. Based on maximising income for the dress, stockings and suspender belt, she had decided to sell her dress. This way, both the dress and her body would attract bids, and she could remove her stockings in the sexiest possible manner.

As Norman announced the item, there was an expectant hush, followed by a sudden outburst of bidding. Sarah knew how high she had set her reserve, but she had little doubt it would be reached.

Before she started her gyrating dance moves, the bidding was in to six figures, and as she lifted her foot on to the chair, allowing the dress to slide upwards and reveal her stocking tops and a flash of mocha thigh, it was at a quarter of a million pounds.

Twirling over to Mike, she presented her back to him and whispered:

'Start me off.' Mike knew exactly what she meant, and unzipped her full length black ball gown to a point where she could comfortably pull the zip the rest of the way herself, with no fumbling or inelegant over-reaching.

She twirled away and back to the chair, this time placing her back to the audience and placing her hands on the seat. She bent forward, all the time sliding her legs wider apart, allowing the dress to ride up her calves, over knees and to her thighs. The view of her pert, rounded buttocks was one which was almost irresistible -- certainly to the absurdly over-rich bidders, now able to see directly up her dress to the tops of her stockings, to her smooth, toned thighs to the shadows beyond -- and maybe, in the shadows, a hint of panties -- a suggestion of colour -- a reflection of light -- were they silk?

Reaching one hand behind, now bent so her upper body was at almost a right angle to those parts below her waist, she lifted the back of the dress to bare inches below her buttocks. Then, suddenly, she pushed up, back still to the audience and grabbed the zipper.

Looking over her shoulder, she smiled, then faced the rear of the stage again as she drew the zipper down until it stopped at the very base of her spine, maybe a fraction of an inch above her panties and the crack between her buttocks, which so many were desperate to expose. She rotated one shoulder, causing the strap of the gown to fall down her arm, revealing one bra strap -- black.

The bidding had reached half a million pounds -- still nothing to these people who would easily spend that amount on a casual whim. She was determined to milk them for more.

Turning to face them again, she placed an arm across her breasts and shook the other strap down. This time, rather than leaving it loose against her shoulder, she lifted the arm up and through the strap. She, and the transfixed eyes below knew that if she released the top of the dress, it would fall, leaving just a single layer, two silk triangles, between them and her bare breasts. That thought alone spurred the bidding once more, as Sarah swapped arms and slipped her other arm free.

She turned her back once more, her bra strap with its three clips now fully revealed along with her pale, brown skin, smooth and enticing, a hint of muscle beneath, firm, toned, yet soft to the touch.

Suddenly a stentorian voice rose above the rest.

'One million pounds.'

A hush fell over the room as people sought the bidder. He was standing, leaning on the wall, cradling a glass of whisky. He owned a chain of supermarkets, whose profits had recently spiralled through a series of acquisitions, cutting out the cheaper end of the market. A cynical move, depriving the less well off of food and goods which they could afford and driving them into poverty and destitution. Sarah hated the idea that he might take her dress.

So, apparently, did someone else.

'1.1 million'

'1.2'

Norman was becoming visibly flustered, and Mike was delighted that bank details had been submitted prior to the auction, so that instant payment could be taken.

The bidding continued, until the supermarket mogul shrugged and withdrew, allowing the dress to sell for £2.7 million. It sold to the husband of a woman who owned a vast recycling business.

Back to the bidders, Sarah allowed the top half of the dress to fall to her waist, where it rested on her hips. Switching from side to side, the dress slipped, tantalising inch by tantalising inch, until suddenly it dropped in a pool at her feet. Turning, Sarah struck a pose, hips to one side, hands behind her head, impossibly gorgeous now in nothing but lingerie.

She took a step forward and turned before bending at the waist, presenting her perfect backside as she picked up the dress and handed it to the winning bidder. Sarah was delighted as he made his way back to his wife and presented it to her. It seemed she disliked the exploiter of the less well off as much as she did.

It was the same woman, the purchaser of the dress who spoke next.

'£10,000 for Mike's shirt.'

This particular lady was known to be a generous donor to charities, and a prominent feminist. It seemed that she had had enough of the misogynistic greed of her fellow billionaires, and was striking back -- for charity and for women. Mike, although he knew she would strip him naked, attempted to communicate his gratitude in a single look. She nodded gracefully to him, apparently receiving his telepathic message.

Sarah stepped up once again, moving behind Mike and undoing his buttons. He felt her breasts on his back, nipples erect and hard, reflecting events in his boxer shorts.

The price continued to rise. It seemed the ladies, unlike the gentlemen, were treating this as fun, each bid playful, and as the bidding showed signs of waning, so the female benefactor would chip in, increasing the bid and stimulating further interest.

If this didn't work, Sarah would unfasten an extra button, revealing more of Mike's chest, with his firm pecs and six pack below, he resembled a tennis player more than a photographer, and Sarah knew that his physique would prove as attractive to the ladies as hers was to the men.

Perhaps one of the few surprises was several men also joining the bidding. Some were known to be gay, and two were with their male partners, but others had arrived with female company, apparently believing there to some stigma attached to acknowledging their sexuality. Such hypocrisy disgusted both Mike and Sarah, and, it seemed, their dates for the evening. Less surprising, perhaps was one married individual who was widely thought to enjoy the company of men, and who was merrily bidding against his wife while they laughed together. A healthier relationship, it seemed than those enjoyed by the men who sought to hide their sexuality.