was honour in shame and fulfilment in submission. And with these boys-only evenings a regular fixture in their diaries, I could only wonder what other delightfully deviant experiences might be on the cards for me in future.
The Auction
Janine Ashbless
She should have been able to see the stars. They were deep in the wastelands and it was late night by the time they came to put her up on stage, so the stars must have been beautiful. But the compound lights were so fierce that when she was dragged out by the two men and looked round, blinking, all she could see were the lights themselves, the crowd and a glimpse of the chain link fences beyond. Fires burned in old oil drums and their smoke made the light hazy. No stars, no desert hills, no escape.
The crowd whooped and roared. Someone sounded an air horn from the top of a beat-up Humvee.
‘Well,’ said the auctioneer, coming forwards to take her from her handlers. ‘Let’s get a look at our next lot, shall we?’
All evening she’d watched the other prisoners being taken up out of the display pen, one by one. Between lots there had been pounding music, whipping the crowd up. She was almost the last to go.
‘We’ve got ourselves a pretty little copperhead here,’ the auctioneer said, taking her elbow and steering her to the front of the stage. His other hand held a sweating beer bottle just as casually. He was a lanky man with a shaved head and tattoos that crawled over every bulge of his muscled arms, and he was miked up so that he didn’t have to raise his voice to be heard. ‘Looks shy, doesn’t she?’
The crowd bayed and jeered.
She dipped her head, her long hair falling over her face. She couldn’t hide it any other way because her elbows were joined by a twist of rope behind her back, leaving her hands free but tethered helplessly low. The tautness of the rope forced her to arch her back and thrust out her tits and ass – just as they wanted.
‘First time on the block,’ said the auctioneer, grinning. His skin gleamed with sweat. ‘Can you see that blush? She’s practically a virgin.’
She squirmed with shame as the catcalls and whistles rose to a new crescendo. She was wearing only tiny cut-off jeans and a deep-necked T-shirt hacked off so short that it barely covered her breasts. There were big manga-style boots on her feet but they didn’t make her feel any less vulnerable, only clumsy and uncertain of her footing, like a newborn calf. Above the boots, hold-up stockings covered her to mid-thigh. They had been white to start with, but now they were stained with dust, and the lace was torn.
‘What do we call you, Red?’ he asked.
‘Antonia.’ The word seemed to burn on her lips.
‘Sweet. You scared, Antonia?’
‘Please …’
‘You should be.’
Her legs nearly gave way under her and only his grip on her elbow kept her on her feet. The shift of her hips made the tight shorts press into her ass crack and she gasped with discomfort, but the sound was masked by the gales of laughter from their audience.
‘D’you know what’s going to happen to you?’
She shook her head.
‘Of course you do. I’m going to sell you to the highest bidder, bitch.’ The insult was savoured, and Antonia felt the heat run through her body like a shock wave. ‘Whoever wants your cunt the most tonight is going to get it. Of course, you’ll be lucky if he only wants your cunt – and not every other orifice. See anyone out there you like the look of, Antonia?’
She twisted her face away, shutting her eyes, but he transferred his grip to the nape of her neck and squeezed warningly.
‘Look at them. You’re here because you’re worth money to them. Look them in the eye – it’s the last chance you’ll get.’
She looked. There were – what? – maybe a couple of hundred people out there, men and women, standing near the front or sitting on the hoods of cars and lolling across parked motorbikes further back. Black clothing and leather predominated, where they had bothered to cover up against the night air. It looked like a scene from a Mad Max movie. There were a lot of grins, but not one of them reassuring.
‘One of those lucky people is going to be fucking you real soon. One of them’s going to own you, bitch. You know what that means? They can have anything they want from you.’
Antonia couldn’t help whimpering. She was shaking with tension and she knew he could feel it.
‘Shall we have a look at the goods then?’ he called out, and they answered with enthusiasm. ‘Right.’ He parked the beer bottle between his belt buckle and his stomach – where it stuck up like a crude glass erection – and tugged a small piece of plastic from his pocket. It was a cable tie. Scooping up the smooth fall of coppery hair that Antonia was so proud of, he twisted it into a rope and secured it with the tie. His movements were swift and practised. ‘I like to see a good handgrip on a slave,’ he informed her, wrapping the bright ponytail around his left fist and pulling her head up and back. Tears brimmed in Antonia’s eyes.
‘Now, I see we’ve got a good big pair of tits on this one,’ he remarked to the crowd. He retrieved his bottle, took one last sip and then upended it over her breasts, dowsing both thoroughly. Shame burned through her body all the way to her core. The liquid was chilled and the smell of cheap beer made her head swim. She was aware of the sudden pull of her nipples as they tightened in response to the unexpected cold shower, poking out against the taut and now clinging cloth.
The auctioneer tossed the empty bottle back over his shoulder. She heard it smash.
‘Yeah, that’s nice,’ he purred, flicking her nipples with his nail to accentuate their jut and pinning her as she flinched. ‘Imagine getting your cock between these, gentlemen. Look at the size of them! And real too! But don’t take my word for it; see for yourselves.’
He pulled something else out of his back pocket and held it up for Antonia and everyone else to see: a knife handle. Its blade flicked out, glinting gold in the compound lights. She gasped, but he took no notice. Holding her firmly, he slipped the knife up between her breasts, caught the point of the T-shirt’s V–neck and pulled. She felt the jerk of the cloth across her shoulders and neck, but the blade must have been very sharp because the cotton gave way almost instantly, splitting down the front to let her breasts spill out. After putting his knife away, the auctioneer cupped one orb and jiggled it.
‘Now, we don’t see many like that nowadays, do we? The genuine article. Heh. For the real connoisseur.’ He slapped her breast to make it bounce, then took hold of the nipple and pulled it up and out, hefting the weight. ‘And not pierced – yet. Well, buy her and ring her.’
He wrenched the shredded shirt off her back and turned her this way and that along the front of the stage to demonstrate to everyone the quiver and bounce of her flesh. The beer gleamed stickily on her bare skin and her nipples pointed at the crowd as if trying in vain to pinpoint an ally. Antonia could feel herself pulsating with shame. She knew her mascara was leaking down her cheeks already.
‘Nice figure too, I think you’ll agree, ladies and gentlemen. A beautiful big ass. I’m betting that’ll soak up plenty of punishment.’ To
