Smoke

by C. P. Mandara

  To their credit, the men didn't make me feel left out. There were a couple of hands on my breasts before I had a chance to blink, and shortly after that, a pair of fingers began gently wandering up my legs. These were just the guys in front of me. There were several others behind me, examining the marks upon my ass with considerable enthusiasm.

  At first, they were gentle - just a whisper of fingertips against my skin. They soon become more adventurous, though. Before long they were poking my bruised and lacerated flesh, trying to see if they could elicit a reaction from me. They did. I was as vocal as I could be about their mistreatment, considering there was a large ball stuffed into my mouth. All the time I was strung up there, being examined by fingers and tongues, I was telling myself that I shouldn’t be aroused by all of this. The whole setup was almost too ridiculous and bizarre for words, but that made no difference. My body responded to their touch like a flower opening her petals for a honeybee. It was almost actively encouraging them, and I had no idea what was going on with my hormones. The comments that were being aimed at me just served to add to fuel to an already out-of-control fire.

  One of them picked up my hand, read my number and made a note on his phone. As far as suits went, his was a dull and unappealing black. "What do you think of number thirty-eight?"

  “She’s alright, I suppose. Nice tits, but a bit small. Good looking, but not drop-dead gorgeous. Mighty fine ass, and nice legs – but she’s not up to the thoroughbred standard of the redhead next door.” Charming, I thought acidly. In front of me was a man with short salt and pepper curls and a receding hairline. He wasn’t going to win any awards for sexiest man of the year either, so that appeased me somewhat.

  “You aren’t going to be able to afford the redhead.”

  “A man can dream.” Black suit looked at Red wistfully.

  “What’s your budget?”

  “Half a mil. I’ll need to look for someone with less experience. One day, that lady is going to be under my roof.”

  His companion snorted. “Not if her new master has a single brain cell in his head. No man in his right mind would ever let that one go.”

  Black suit ignored him. “Is this one within my budget?” He then placed his palm out in from of my legs and slowly slid it between my thighs. When he had cupped me within the warm heat of his hand, he then lifted me up, which was mightily disconcerting when both your hands and legs were tied. My balance was precarious at best. Squawking noisily at the mistreatment, he tipped his head back to grin at me.

  “At least this one has spirit. How much training has she had?” Lowering me gently back towards the ground, he then brought the fingertips of his other hand towards me and traced a line around my stretched, waxy lips. “They look so adorable when they’re gagged, don’t they?”

  The guy he was with made no comment. He was busy scrolling through his cell phone once more. "Ah," he said finally, his tone upbeat. "You can afford this one, by the looks of it. She's only had a year's training, and her master is an unknown. Play your cards right, and you could get a bargain, Nieman."

  Mr. Nieman didn't bother acknowledging his friend's remarks. He was staring straight into my eyes as if by doing so, he could discover all my secrets. I couldn't help but wonder what the man was thinking.

  "Have you tested the waters yet? Is she tight? Isn't that all that matters, anyway?" His friend now wore a bored look on his face, and it was clear he wanted to move on. I had most definitely exhausted his curiosity, but Nieman obviously saw something in me he didn't.

  “Shut up, Harris. Feel free to roam. I’ll catch up with you later.” Nieman threw his hand back over his shoulder, dismissing his friend without actually looking at him. If I ended up with this bloke, I was going to be in for a fun ride. He then shocked the hell out of me by lunging three fingers inside my pussy without warning. Once again I was thrust up into the air, impaled on a thick bed of flesh.

  "Hmm. Did they lube you girls up or are you as aroused as your eyes seem to suggest? I suspect I'll figure that out as I walk down the line, won't I?" He would, so I remained very still, but I didn't lose eye contact. I wanted Black suit to remember me. The more interested parties I had, the better. "Do you like pain, thirty-eight?" His hand was now gliding over the twin globes of my ass, pressing into the reddened flesh. I groaned and nodded. Yes, I was telling him what he wanted to hear, but it was also true. This was a whole new journey of self-discovery for me, and by the end of it, I suspected I'd be quite shocked at the revelations that were slowly unfolding.

  "Thought so. Well, you'll have to hang around a bit longer, but I think I'll be seeing you later, slave." With that he was off, skipping around Red and moving forward down the line. My sigh of relief was short-lived, though, for another suit was in his place almost before he had vacated it. Black suit and friend had been replaced by a grey suit, and the newer version looked no more exciting than the last.

  “Well, what have we here?” I revised my opinion. Grey suit was far creepier than black. “A helpless little slave, that’s what. Would you like to serve me, perhaps?” Grey suit was short, fat, balding, and carried a distinct whiff of underarm perfume. So the honest answer to that question was a resounding no, but I wasn’t here to be honest. I tried my best to nod enthusiastically, without shuddering in revulsion. At least my grimace would be artfully hidden by the great big orange ball in my mouth.

  “I bet you would. Let’s take a look at you.” The man had an ego to boot, how delightfully charming. His hands ran across my stomach and then upwards to my chest. Although I had been panting with arousal after the last two guys, suddenly arousal had turned to repulsion.

  "Good childbearing hips, these. Tits could do with being a bit bigger, but we can always sort that out later." I had news for him. We would not be doing that – well, not if he wanted any breath left in his body, that was.

  "You look reasonably fit. Household chores shouldn't be a problem for you. Can you cook?" He tweaked my nipple, and I had the urge to slap him. Too bad I was tied up. Scrap that, I wouldn't be getting near Dumortier if I made a stupid slip up like that. Just as well my hands were tied. Now, was there any chance this goon could belong to Dumortier because if the answer was no, I needed to get rid of him as quickly as possible. Was Carte Blanche interested in girls who could do the dishes? No. This guy was a moron. I would deal with him appropriately and preferably before his hands reached between my legs. Apologetically, I shook my head at his earlier question. I tried to look contrite. Okay, I didn't try that hard. At least my response had results. He snatched his hand away as if stung and looked at me as if I had two heads.

  “You can’t cook? Oh goodness, you won’t do at all. What do they teach you in school these days?” Looking aghast he moved on down the line without a further glance in my direction. Phew.

  The suits came thick and fast after that. I lost count of the times I had my nipples pulled, and my breasts squeezed. Everyone wanted to get at least a couple of spanks in, and these were mostly delivered on my ass and thighs. By this time, my poor backside felt like someone had taken an electric sander to it, but for all its protestations, the pulse between my legs remained strong. At the moment I would have done almost anything to have been allowed an orgasm, including murdering heads of state, the pope, or Justin Bieber – okay, maybe not the pope, but definitely Justin Bieber.

  “Gentlemen, you have ten minutes left to examine the slaves, and then we will move on to private inspections.” Thank God for that, although I figured I was being a little premature. Private inspections were guaranteed to be even more intense than what I was going through now, and I’d already had more than I could handle. If I was honest with myself, none of the men I’d seen looked like they had anything to do with Carte Blanche, and I was beginning to wonder if Dumortier was even here. What if something better had come up and he’d decided to miss today’s auction? Then I’d be destined for at least six months of sexual servitude with a complete nutter before another chance presented itse
lf. It would drive me completely crazy, and that probably wasn’t an exaggeration.

  Two more black suits came at me, ambling down the line in the opposite direction to most of the crowd. Both of them looked like they should be in the mafia with shaven heads, sunglasses, and thin black ties. It was never too dark to look cool, apparently. Mind you, with the glaring white lights overhead, maybe they had a point.

  “This one’s attractive, right build, and right look. What’s her number?” This bloke sounded like someone in the mafia, too. He had a deep, whisky voice, which was rough and very sure of itself.

  "Thirty-eight."

  “Shit, it says here she only has a year’s experience. That could be a problem.”

  “She’s perfect in every other way, and she’s one of only two we’ve seen this evening. Boss isn’t going to be happy if we come home empty handed, Ross.”

  The Krays looked at each other for a moment and pouted. I hung there utterly helpless, thinking that this pair finally looked promising only to find out that my interview might be over before it had even bloody started. I couldn't even smile in encouragement, although I did leave them a little line of drool from the corner of my chin.

  “Does she like pain?” Kray number one wrinkled his nose at me.

  “It says here that she does. My backside was then twisted around so Kray two could view it and he whistled.

  "Oh, Bossman will like this one. She has a very nice ass, very nice indeed."

  I had no idea whether he was referring to the shape of my backside or the marks upon it, but I’d take compliments where I could find them.

  “Is she feisty?” One of them squeezed my left breast and pulled at my nipple, so I bucked against the chains to assure them I was. I would happily be anything they wanted me to be, in order to gain an audience with my nemesis.

  “Hmph. Seems that she is.” Kray number one stroked his thumb over his chin and seemed to be lost in thought. Thankfully, Kray number two helped him out.

  "She's a brunette, she's petite, she likes pain, and there's a good chance she's got attitude. What more do you want?"

  “Her master is an unknown. He won’t like that.”

  "Most of these girls have plastic tits. He won't like that, either." They went on like this for several minutes, until the commentator ordered everyone to get down off the stage. I had no idea whether I'd passed their initial criteria or not, and I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. They'd hardly touched me compared to most of the other blokes, and that couldn't be a good sign, could it? My skin was beginning to feel rather hot and clammy at the thought of failure, and I was getting a little light-headed, so it was a relief when the curtains in front of us drew to a close and the staff came back to untie us all. They'd obviously done this before because in just a few moments we were all sitting on the floor obediently, just like we'd been told, and waiting to hear what would happen next.

  The lady with the bright red dress was back, and she was still brandishing her clipboard. Standing in front of us, extremely tall in her spike heels, she began to talk.

  "Okay, slaves. We're waiting to see which of you have interested parties. When we get the final list together, all of those that have prospective buyers will be led away to a private room. Those that don't will be returned to their masters in fairly short order. You may be wondering if your gags will be removed shortly, and the answer to that question is: we have no idea. If someone wants to hear your voice, they'll take out your gag. Otherwise, it'll stay in place. Some of you won't be allowed to talk where you're going, and those that are won't be expected to speak too often. So think of this as a good lesson in the art of silence. For those of you that haven't been here before, most will want to know what's about to happen to them next, and again – we don’t know. If you're lucky enough to be taken to a private room, do all that you have to in order to impress your interested party. If you don't, they'll bid on another. I can guarantee you that your master will not be impressed if you are sent back to him tonight without a single bid to your name. If you think your backside feels painful now, it's nothing compared to what it's going to feel like later, when your Sir realises how much of a disappointment you are. Yes, you will probably be asked to do some humiliating things, and yes, you should do them eagerly and with enthusiasm. This is what you signed up for. Anyone who doesn't want to play the game should leave now, and the door is that way." She pointed with her pen to the black door just behind her and waited. No one made a move.

  "Good. That settles that, so I shall expect no second-rate performances later, slaves. Okay, so after your individual assessments, the auction will commence. Having an assessment is no guarantee that you will receive a bid, as many of the gentlemen will be inspecting three or more girls. This is why it is extremely important that you try your best. You won't be present at the auction, but we do allow you to listen to the feed in the hall out back, so you can follow along. If you have been bought, your contracts will be drawn up this evening, and you will go home with your new owner immediately. There is no ‘get out' clause. If you decide that this life is not for you, tough luck. A slave who sullies her name thus will never again be welcome in our world, either. Everyone still sure they want to be here?" As no one left, I guessed they did.

  We then all sat in chilling silence for a few minutes, waiting for our fate to be decided. I used this time very wisely, by swinging between worrying myself to death that there would be no bids next to my name, or, conversely, that there would be. Both scenarios would present their own unique problems, I just needed to concentrate on not having a panic attack, which wasn’t as easy as it sounded when you’d been heavily gagged.

  One of the guys in black then walked briskly into our room and handed Ms. Red Pencil Dress a sheaf of papers. She smiled at him and then dismissed him with a wave of her hand. She spent the next minute or two perusing the sheets in front of her with dedicated enthusiasm. Would she stand to make a commission from our sales? It looked likely.

  Everyone on the floor shuffled about uncomfortably, while we tried our best not to dribble on each other. The clock ticked away, increasing our desperation by the second. With the odd exception of Red and a few other stunningly gorgeous model-types, most of us were looking rather green.

  Finally, Miss Red Pencil Dress cleared her throat. “Right, slaves. I’m pleased to tell you that it’s been a pretty successful evening, but that there will still be some of you who will be returning home this evening. I’m going to give you the results of the first round by reading out the slaves who have the most interested parties to their name first. Those of you who have failed this round will hear your name last, as is fitting. Is everyone sitting comfortably?” I’m pretty sure she didn’t expect a response, but we all sat up a little straighter and made sure our ears were attuned to the tiniest little sound for the time being.

  "Okay, when you hear your number called out, stand up, please. At the top of our leader-board is number forty-nine, with eleven interested parties. You are going to have a very busy evening, darling. Well done. Everyone give her a clap." I wasn't surprised when Red stood up and received her applause elegantly, with all the glamour and pizazz of a Miss World contestant. All she needed to do was fluff her hair, and – she fluffed her hair. My case was closed.

  As Pencil Dress went down the list, my anxiety increased tenfold. As predicted, all the model-like sylphs had the most admirers. It was to be expected. Without the use of our voices, all we had to recommend ourselves was our bodies – and clearly, that was the case here. The men weren't interested in anything bar sex, or should I say kinky sex, and they wanted to look at a pretty girl while indulging their fantasies. I got that. So we went all the way down the list from ten interested parties to three, and still my name wasn't listed. Over half the girls had now stood up, so I was literally a quivering mess as Pencil Dress continued. When we got down to two interested parties, and my name still hadn't been called, I wanted to dissolve in a fit of hysterics. Please don’t send me
home. I wasn’t sure I could go through this again.

  "Slaves, I'm down to my last successful applicant. After her number is called, all of you who are still sitting down may leave the room. Pencil Dress scrolled down to the bottom of her last sheet, and all of the girls left on the floor looked like they might throw up at any moment. Some were already in tears, and we weren't even finished yet. I was holding it together, but if I was honest with myself, even if I did have a single interested buyer – it was doubtful it would be Dumortier. This didn't look like it was going to be one of my easiest assignments. Deciding that all was lost, I tried to accept the fact that I'd made a miserable failure of myself.

  “Number thirty-eight, please stand up.” When my number was called, I was so shocked I could barely get to my feet. Struggling to get upright, I could feel my pulse rate exploding as I tried to figure out what this meant.

  The rest of the girls sitting down dissolved into fits of hysterics and we had to wait while Pencil Dress ushered each of them out of the room. After she had finished with her dismissals, she turned to me and gave me a calculating look.

  “You’re an interesting case, thirty-eight. You would have had lots of interested parties, had it not been for your lack of experience and pedigree. As no one here is aware of master Sandburne, most were reluctant to take you on until you’ve proven yourself with someone else. As you can imagine, if no one is prepared to give you a chance, this is a catch twenty-two situation where everyone goes away unhappy. As it happens, you have one party who is definitely interested and one who is undecided and needs more time to consider you. My advice would be to try your hardest to impress this evening. You’ve made it through to stage two by the skin of your teeth, but there’s a long way to go yet.” She then surveyed the room slowly and began walking around, carefully assessing each one of us. “That goes for all of you, by the way. No one has a bid next to their name yet, and there are plenty of people in this room who will shortly be joining those who have just left. You need to impress these men, slaves. Show them what you can do. Be creative, sensual, dramatic, and fun. No two men are the same, and each will want something different from you. Your job is to discover what that is and deliver it.” Nodding at us, she then smiled.