Two Do Ron-Ron Ch. 03byHippieSlut©
I'm Ronnie, Veronica; Ron-Ron to some. I've been go-go dancing at my boss Chet's club in the Haight-Ashbury for a year now. With the full consent and urging of my boyfriend David, I've gotten into some interesting, and, yeah, lucrative scenes.
I didn't start out to do sex for money, but when the chance comes along---dancing nude in the club's private back room for members only, letting David film me being fucked by friends or strangers, being the present at a birthday party, things like that---I do. Not a lot, just enough to make me feel like a man's total plaything and possession. Which I love feeling like, by the way. But we always need a few extra bucks, and frankly I'm thrilled to do it and get paid. (I'm just as thrilled to do it for free, of course, too.)
What I like best is being forced. Well, you really can't say it's rape, against my will, not when I'm enjoying every second of it, but the guys like to see me, and enjoy me, tied down naked after a "struggle", and I like them to do it. So after the birthday party success (not only paid but I got a fur coat out of it!), David and I started to think of other possibilities...
Chet brought me a message one night that a valued club patron would like to enjoy private overnight horizontal dancing with me, for the usual handsome fee, and we were a little short that week at home, so I said yes, as David and I had agreed I could. "Good girl," said Chet, smiling. "Be waiting for him in your dressing room after the show."
There are three or four small dressing rooms in the back of the club, fitted with kingsize beds, showers and all the sex toys you can imagine. I'm not the only girl who obliges club customers, but I'm the star dancer, so I have the nicest room. I've decorated it myself, so it looks like a beautiful harem chamber, with rich, colorful drapes and fabrics, fur throws and pillows, mirrored walls and ceilings, and the men never fail to dig it.
When the patron arrived, I was kneeling by the bed, head down, my costume on again. I'd learned this was how the men like it, the ones who'd seen me dance and want to have me after: they want to see me submissive and waiting, ready for them to strip me.
He pulled me up by the arm, and I saw who it was. I didn't know his name, but he came to the club regularly. I love big men, they make me feel utterly female when they fuck me, and this one was absolutely gorgeous: had to be six-six and 225 pounds, powerful build, long shaggy ash-blond hair to his shoulders, darker than my own gold-blond, neatly trimmed full beard. He looked like a Viking prince, or the king of the surfers. In the private club I'd often danced directly to him, letting him rip off the tearaway bikini, displaying my body to him, but he'd never asked for me before and I'd never spoken to him.
He touched my cheek gently. "I've wanted this for quite a while, you know," he said in a deep, English-accented voice, or maybe Danish. "I'm curious to see if you fuck as well as you dance."
"I'll do my best, I'm yours for the night," I said, eyes cast down modestly. I was amazed to find myself shivering at his touch; this was going to be good.
"Indeed you are," he said, smiling, and picked me up and lay me down on the bed. He began stripping my costume off—didn't take very long, there's not much there—and when I was naked, he began running his hands over me, studying me like a textbook on female anatomy. I'm not muscled or anything, even as a dancer: my body is slim but curvy, soft and, men tell me, very desirable, with long legs that make up way more than half my height.
"So sweet...you're so fuckable."
"Then fuck me." I was having a hard time getting words out, being instantly turned on. His hands had traveled down to my crotch, and he was tugging gently on my piercings. I had a clit bar in, and six rings, three on each outer labia, that were often linked by chains to my navel and nipple rings. I also had a nose ring in, which really seems to turn the guys on.
He clamped one strong hand over my entire smooth, bare mound, gripping hard, and closed the other, gently but firmly, around my throat, and I went very still, suddenly aware that this was no man to trifle with, that quite apart from him paying to use me, I would do well to obey his smallest wish and least command.
But he just smiled down at me, the smile of a man in possession of a woman he's about to enjoy. "I'm going to fuck you in every hole you have, slut."
In less than a minute he had me utterly helpless, spread-eagled and tied down, and was eating me out at his leisure, slowly and expertly, his hands cupping my ass. I loved the way his long hair brushed my thighs, like extra fingers; the way his beard felt against my smooth snatch; the way his lips took possession of my delicate soft parts; and I moaned as his mouth found my slit among the rings, flicking at my clit, the point of his tongue entering me delicately, then his lips drawing my clit into his mouth and sucking it hard, raking it between his teeth, biting at my pussy lips and clit hood until I was begging him to take me.
I wanted to feel him deep inside me, riding me like a stallion covering a mare: it was what I was here for. I wanted to look down along my glistening naked body and watch his beautiful thick cock disappearing into my hot wet softness, I wanted him to piledrive me until I screamed so loud they'd hear me on the Golden Gate Bridge.
But he had ideas of his own. Suddenly he stopped eating me, reared back and stripped his clothes off; God, he was beautiful, all muscled and hard. Naked now, he moved to straddle my face, his hands twisted in my long hair holding my head still for him, and I eagerly opened my mouth to take him in. His uncut English cock went deep, pushing on my nose ring as I sucked and tongued his massive shaft.
But he didn't want me to blow him, and he pulled out after a minute to kneel between my legs and poise his cock at my entrance, fingers at work; between his tongue and my own juices my slit was dripping wet by now. Being tied down, I couldn't wrap my arms and legs around him as I longed to, and he knew that. He watched my face as he began to mount me, his dick slipping tantalizingly just barely in, and then as my little moans and gasps got more urgent and more intense, he finally plunged in, hard and deep.
I screamed and arched my back: he was huge, one of the thickest, biggest cocks I'd ever had in me, and he felt terrific. I loved the feeling of his weight on me, his strength pinning me to the bed, his dick stretching out my cunt and the feel of it inside me as it moved against the walls of my cunt, the texture of his skin and the hardness of his muscles against my softness, the way he made my whole body move up toward the head of the bed with every thrust he gave me—like I was the lollipop and he was the stick.
I writhed under him, pushing my hips up in time to his motion, and as we started to come together, that delirious exploding wave of feeling coming up from my crotch, unstoppable, we both cried out, and he fell on me, biting my neck like a mating lion to mark me as his.
We weren't done, though; he hardened up again inside me almost at once, and before he was spent that second time he had made me come five times in a single fuck. But he'd paid for me for the whole night, and before we fell asleep for a bit, he had me suck him off, and used my ass a few times too: from behind, me flat on the bed; flipping me onto my back and bending my legs back, or over his shoulders.
My cunt wasn't neglected: once he knelt upright on the bed and pulled me up to meet his cock, only my feet and shoulders on the bed, his strong hands holding me to meet his cock driving into my dripping cunt, like I was the plowblade and he was the plow. And he plowed me good and hard.
I love it when men just do whatever they want to me and never ask my permission; it's the natural way. If a man uses a woman to please himself, it generally pleases her too, because she's made to please him. That's how we're wired.
"You are incredible," he gasped later, on his knees behind me with my heart-shaped ass in the air: his cock buried in my cunt, my head and bound arms on the bed as he pulled me back onto him by my shoulders, driving forward into me, fucking me as if he owned me. Well, he did, for that night at least.
In the mirrors, I loved the look of our bodies joined together: my creamy pale skin, his surfer's tan against it, his long blond hair falling forward to hide his face, the way he looked kneeling there slamming into me, the way I looked bent over before him.
"You're pretty incredible yourself," I gasped back as he made me come yet again. He'd used me it seemed like dozens of times in every possible position, with toys from vibrators to nipple clamps; he'd even whipped me once or twice. I hoped he felt he'd gotten his money's worth out of me; actually I felt like I should be paying him, I'd enjoyed him so much.
In the morning, he was gone, a generous tip left for me and the fee paid to Chet as usual. I saw him once or twice again at the club, but he never said a word to me and never even smiled. I knew I'd pleased him very much, so I wasn't really concerned, but then he stopped showing up and I figured maybe he'd moved away.
A few months later, I was leaving the club one cool night full of San Francisco fog; I was wearing my tear-off dancing bikini, fastened only by thin ribbon-paper ties so men could just pull it off me, and over it a long tapestry coat I'd picked up at a Haight boutique. I looked around for my usual car service, but he wasn't there yet, so I stood there waiting.
Suddenly, someone grabbed me from behind, his hand over my mouth and his arm lifting me off the ground. I struggled and tried to see his face, but he was really strong and I couldn't break free. He carried me around the corner to a waiting van and threw me inside face down, jumping in after me and slamming the door. Instantly the van took off: two of them. I'd been kidnapped.
My captor wrapped the coat tightly around me and lashed my ankles together, then bound my wrists behind my back. Quickly he gagged and blindfolded me, and I was helpless. The two men never said a word to each other. I was beginning to wonder if this was one of David's "possibilities", but it wasn't him, I could tell from the size and feel.
We drove for at least an hour, and the guy who'd grabbed me didn't lose any time getting his cock into my mouth as I lay there helpless. I sucked him off eagerly, then he and the driver traded places and I did him too. Definitely not David, or Chet, or any other man I knew. They finger-fucked me in my cunt and ass, too, until I was moaning, but that was as far as it went, and I wondered why they didn't just rape me right there, nothing stopping them.
Finally we arrived at our destination. I could tell it was deep in the country: cool air, smell of pines, complete silence. I was carried out of the van and into the house, slung over the first guy's shoulder like a rolled-up carpet, then down into the cellar. Still blindfolded and gagged, I was set down on the thickly carpeted floor, my coat removed, and then they fastened my rebound hands to a hook in the ceiling and my ankles to a bar set into the floor.
As far as I could tell, the room was dark except for a spotlight directly above me; the light and heat fell right on me. The gag was removed and a glass of water with a straw in it was held to my lips; I drank eagerly. Ever since I'd been carried in, I'd heard low male voices talking a few feet away: apparently there were a number of people here.
Then I felt myself circled by them, people I couldn't see, and someone pulled off the tearaway bikini, so that I hung there nude, wearing only my steel piercings. Many different hands ran over my naked body, cupping my breasts and ass cheeks, stroking my smooth bare pussy, pinching and tugging on my nipples until my 36C's shook, commenting on my attributes. I was being displayed and handled like a filly on the auction block; and then I realized that's exactly what I was.
Then the strangers went away, apparently taking their seats, and I sensed a feeling of anticipation in the room, centered on me, and I shivered.
"Gentlemen," came a deep unfamiliar voice, "thank you for coming to tonight's auction. We have here for sale as our first lot this delicious little piece of prime fuckmeat. She's 21, five-six, a hundred and ten pounds, 36C-24-35, great rack, a nice curvy and cuddly armful. Blond hair to her pretty little ass, piercings as you see, green eyes, a trained dancer. She comes with papers and a license for resale. Once she's broken, she'll make a superb slave; she's insatiable, so she'd be an asset in a brothel; and if you just want her for personal use, she's a dynamite fuck, I've had her myself. The consigner wants to sell her outright, no conditions on her sale or her future use. The bidding starts at a thousand."
"Can we see her in action?" came a voice from out in the room. It suddenly hit me: I was being sold. This wasn't a game. David had actually put me up for sale, and a stranger was actually going to buy me. In spite of panic and terror, a thrill shot through my crotch at the idea of being owned, a man's true possession and enjoyment. And who was this man selling me, who claimed he'd had me? I didn't recognize his voice...
"Of course. Draw cards for which of you gets the chance to test-drive her." There was a buzz of laughing talk, then one shout of triumph. The winner came forward, ran his hands over me, and then I was let down and tied spread-eagled to a thickly padded frame.
He took his time mounting me, handling me like a pro---which I later found out he was, the head buyer for a corporate harem in Singapore---hands on my inner thighs, finger teasing my slit, then slipping deep inside, and another into my ass. I arched against my bonds, raising my hips to him like a bitch in heat, as his fingers moved around inside me. I heard him laugh softly as he withdrew his fingers and began to knead my breasts, then lowered himself on me, his cock out and hard, and brushing my pussy. I was panting now, feeling him touch me, straining against my bonds, unable to speak or see as his hands slipped under my ass and lifted my hips to give him better access to my cunt.
He put his cock to my dripping slit and began to pull on my hips, pulling me down onto his cock rather than pushing it into me. He was fairly thick, just as I like it, not overly long. A super-long cock is a waste, really: there's just so many inches a cunt can take, and I like to feel a man in me all the way, right up to his balls pressed to my pussy. But thickness is where it's at, and this guy filled me up.
I moaned behind the gag, and he began to move, thrusting harder and deeper, pulling all the way out only to plunge in again. I started to writhe beneath him, in time with his thrusts, lifting my hips to him, totally getting off on the fact that I was naked and he wasn't.
There's something so primitive and erotic about being a completely nude woman getting fucked by a fully dressed man---the feel of your bare body rubbing against cloth, the sense that you're just a female animal there for a male to use, that he can't even be bothered to take his clothes off to shove his cock into you, he just wants to get on you and in you there and then and that's all there is to it---and believe me, I was COMPLETELY into it.
He felt me respond to him, and started ramming into me as I heaved back at him. I could hear the cheers of the other men there, and it drove me wild knowing they were watching me perform, and would soon be bidding on me. Let them see what they'd get for their money! I squirmed under him like a total slut, wild with his motion, and we both came together, to much applause. He pulled out of me, kissed me on my belly and climbed off, while I lay there gasping and exhausted.
The bidding, no surprise, was fast and furious after that, and in the end I was sold for fifteen thousand dollars. A lot of money, more than a whole year's salary for me at the club; my new owner must be a wealthy man. Still, if he kept me for ten years, that's only fifteen hundred a year, and I'd still only be 31. Or maybe he'd put me out to stud, use me to breed for couples.
David...well, I could understand why he'd done it, really. And I wasn't terribly surprised or even terribly upset. I'd always had the sense that I was just property, for men to do with as they pleased; honestly, I secretly got off on the idea of being bought and sold, of a stranger owning me to do with whatever he wanted, and I wondered what my life would now be like.
The bidders began to talk among themselves as drinks were served and another lot was brought in for sale, and I was led into another room. Still blindfolded, I was made to kneel; my hair was lifted and a steel collar was locked around my throat. I heard the metallic click as the tumblers spun and closed; I was utterly powerless to get the collar off my body, and the feeling gave me a thrill.
Then I was carried over to a padded table and fastened down, completely immobilized, and I heard a buzzing and suddenly felt a sharp pain in my left thigh. I was being tattooed! The inker saw my protesting expression, and squeezed my breast reassuringly.
"Don't worry, it's just a small brand, very pretty. We tattoo all the merchandise that we sell here. The brand says you're property, and lets future buyers know what dealer sold you first. The collar says whose property you are. If you get sold again, and someone as pretty as you will have either a lot of masters or just the first one, your new master will put his own collar on you, then take the old one off, so your body will never be without the touch of an owner's steel."
Speaking of whom... I still hadn't seen my owner's face, or heard his voice. Helped off the table, still blindfolded, my coat was put on again over my nakedness. Then I was leashed and my hands bound behind my back, and led outside and put into a luxurious limo-like car, tied down securely and comfortably on the back seat.
We drove for at least another hour, no word spoken, then the car pulled up on gravel and stopped. Still in the mountains: same cool pine-scented damp air, same utter quiet, except now I could hear the sea very close at hand.
My owner pulled me out of the car, lifted me in his arms and carried me to the threshold, setting me down on the doorstep and opening the door.
"Crawl, slave." The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place it.
I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled into his house. I was instantly commanded to strip and put my head to the floor, my back rounded over and my arms drawn in. I heard the snap of a whip behind me, then felt the first of four lashes across the smooth creamy skin of my back. I almost screamed with the pain and surprise, but resolved to hold my position and not cry out.
"The whip does no permanent damage. It's just to make sure you understand there will be punishment for disobedience, and to let you know your place," my master said then, and he sounded pleased at my response. "And that I'm in control. I own you. I bought you. I'm your master, you're my slave."
I wasn't likely to forget: naked, branded and collared as I was, and now whipped too. Then he pulled me to my feet and ripped the blindfold off, and, by my hair, dragged my head back to look him in the face. I gasped, and he smiled: he was the tall, bearded blond Englishman from the club who'd bought my use that night several months ago. And now he'd bought me entirely.
"I take it you're not displeased with your new master, slave?" he asked, grinning, now using his true accent, the lovely educated British one I remembered.
I fell to his feet and kissed his boots. "No, master. Not in the slightest."