Shameful Thrills. Various
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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 demonstrate, he clapped his palm loud and hard against the swell of her bum cheek and Antonia let loose an inadvertent squeal of shock.
The burn seemed to swell even as the pain died away.
‘Oh, a little sensitive are you, darling? That’ll be fun.’ He winked at the audience. ‘And a good pair of lungs on her, I hope you notice. Mind, she’ll need to be able to breathe through her ears, given what one of you horny fuckers will probably be doing to her before the end of the night.’
‘Please,’ she begged, ‘please let me go! I shouldn’t be here, I need to go home –’
‘Shush.’ His fingers were oddly gentle as he pressed them to her lips, cutting off her protests. ‘No one’s listening. Nobody cares.’ Two of his fingers slid into her mouth. They tasted of iron and oil and sweat, and Antonia worked frantically to accommodate them and not gag as he pushed them over her tongue, right to the back of her mouth. ‘That’s better,’ he sighed. ‘You’re beginning to get it, aren’t you?’
As he withdrew his fingers his attention snapped back to the crowd. ‘Of course, ladies and gentlemen,’ he announced, snuggling up to her rear, ‘what you really want to see is her pussy, isn’t it?’ With the word ‘pussy’ his voice dropped an octave and the mic vibrated. He was playing up to the theatre of it all, and she was doubly sure he was enjoying it because, through his abraded jeans, his hard cock was jabbing gleefully up against her.
‘Yes!’ shouted the crowd – and wilder, more obscene things too.
‘I don’t blame you.’ The auctioneer’s spit-wet fingers trailed over her chin and down her throat and between her breasts. ‘You don’t buy a car without looking under the hood, do you? And you don’t buy a fuck-slave without getting a good look at her pussy.’ He smoothed his hand down the slight curve of her belly and insinuated his fingers beneath the waistband of her cut-offs. His thumb flicked open her fly button with a casual expertise. ‘Want to see?’ he teased.
‘Yes!’
‘Turn around,’ he ordered, spinning her to face the back of the stage. ‘Now, be a good little bitch and bend over.’
Antonia had never anticipated this. She could feel the sweat of her panic gather at the small of her back. It hardly felt real: the blood was pounding in her ears and her head was swimming. But the stage was backed by big polished steel