The Slave

by Laura Antoniou

  Muscledog had no such compunction; he worked his ass back and forth with vigor and glee, rubbing his cock up against Robin’s lower back, between the shirt and the vest. “That’s more action than the little punk’s got all day,” barked one spectator.

  “Poor thing! Bet he wishes he had a hard cock up that tight little bubble butt.”

  Yes, yes, I do, Robin swore to herself. Oh, my freaking God, yes!

  “Yeah, well, we can fuck the stud, so why’s he wasting time on fucking boots?”

  “Because they’re my fucking boots and that’s what I wanted!” cried the man in the chair. But his friends argued and pleaded; two chanted, “Fuck the stud! Fuck the stud!” and Robin felt Muscledog being jerked from her back. Then she was grabbed by the bondage belt and pulled back while Muscledog was ordered to take down the boot rests so he could kneel sideways. The man in the chair pounded his boots down on his broad back and Robin was thrust forward to take up the brushes and rags as men knelt down in the grass on both ends of her newest brother slave. Condoms were produced and slid onto engorged cocks and the cocks were shoved into Muscledog from each end. His back arched as he took them. The furry man in the chair leaned back and chuckled.

  “OK, I kinda like this view,” he admitted.

  The two men fucking Muscledog gave each other a high five and began to ream him with the energy and passion of men who got what they wanted after a brief struggle. Even temporary denial could be a turn on.

  And as for Robin?

  Her first instinct was correct―to get back to work. She dusted the grass and dirt from her hands and grabbed a brush and realized that without the narrow places to rest the boots, she would have to be careful not to knock against Muscledog’s back or smear products all over him. On the other hand, she reconsidered, maybe he’d like that.

  And then, in the next moment, she realized he was being fucked from two ends right there in front of her and it was the hottest fucking thing she’d ever seen. The man in front was long and curved and his cock speared Muscledog’s mouth in a slow arc, capped by the slave bracing himself whenever the man’s balls banged against his chin. The one fucking his ass was less aesthetically pleasing in his motions―he was plowing Muscledog with a mindless fury, slapping his ass and thighs with no sense of rhythm or artistry.

  The savagery of the ass-pounding was as much a turn on for Robin as the slow mouth-fucking. Taken together, they made her drop the brush in her hand. Masculine laughter rose as she nervously gathered her supplies and tried, desperately tried, to deliver a passable shine in the midst of an orgy.

  Try as she might, it was nearly impossible. Muscledog was strong and solid―more solid than she had been! But getting fucked was a terrible distraction, and when the man fucking his throat clamped down and came, the slave choked and shook and Robin wound up smearing her blackened fingers over his bruised skin. And when another man dropped to his knees in front of him and started fucking his mouth anew, Robin couldn’t help but wipe at her mouth with the back of her hand. She’d never been so, so... cock hungry! In her entire life.

  If the girls at the lesbian SM club could see me now, she thought again, wildly. Oh, fuck, if Chris could see me! Would he want me? Ken said he liked the younger men at the leather bars, liked to rough them up and make them cry. She remembered the image of Chris, his fist tight in Leon’s long hair, shoving his face down between Chris’s legs, a slight smile on the trainer’s face as he watched Robin getting tormented and fucked by Gordon Reynolds, Leon’s owner.

  And saliva actually dropped from her mouth. She was so aroused, it hurt. When she finished the shine as best as she could, hands shoved her face forward, mashing her cheek against Muscledog’s back as voices yelled at her to lick, suck, tongue that boot, faggot...

  She licked. The slick sides of the boot, the curved toe, and the hot sweaty taste of Muscledog’s back; it was one texture after another under her swollen, roughened tongue. She dug her tongue into the boot, feeling the man’s toes under the leather, and hearing him swear.

  Someone else came on her, shooting jism into her hair again.

  With a soft moan, Robin came so close to fainting she thought she truly had. But it was just a blurring of time, from one moment of tasting the leather and skin to the next sharp segment of time, drawing back as the man in the chair roared for Muscledog to get his cocksucking mouth up to him. She scrambled back on her knees, getting out of the way of the crush of men around the muscular slave and crawled around to one side of the chair, trying to find her water bottle and failing. For a while, she just leaned there, feeling the thumping and pounding of the sex and her own heart.

  * * * *

  It was Carl who came to get her as the sun set and men shifted to an informal rest period before the evening festivities took over. She took yet another shower and collapsed onto her bunk bed thinking it was the most luxurious place in the world. Naked and clean and chilled by the air conditioning, she slept two hours, and gobbled an energy bar while suiting back up. She was still chewing the sweet granola when Carl came back.

  “Oh, good, you’re ready,” he said. She nodded and was about to ask what she was going to be doing now, but he grabbed her by one arm and whipped a blindfold over her eyes.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered.

  “Giving you what you want, girl-fag. What you need. Now shut those pretty lips until I give ’em something to get busy on!”

  He hooked a leather leash onto her collar and kept a tight hold on it, up by her throat, leading her down the hall, to what she could tell from the walk was the second guest bedroom.

  “Carl, you are one good slave,” said a familiar voice. Robin was sure this had been one of her customers today, one of her boot masters, but she couldn’t remember which one.

  “Nah, I am a bad, bad boy,” Carl replied. “But tell you the truth, the punk needs a little taste, and if you want him, I guess Master won’t mind too much.”

  “And if he does, it’s your ass anyway.” The man laughed and Robin was shoved to her knees, forced to crawl to him. “Oh, my fucking God, what a sweet ass little boy you got there. Are you sure he’s legal?”

  “Legal and hungry, master. Shit, he can’t get his hands off us, and we’re just slaves.”

  “Just slaves, what a joke. How many guys you plow today, Carl?” Rough hands pulled her head by the hair and Robin gasped in a breath along with the thick cockhead shoved into her mouth.

  “Day ain’t over yet, sir.” Again, rough masculine laughter echoed from two sides of her and Robin laved her tongue over the dry, flavored condom to moisten it. Mango, she thought with amused desperation. It was mango-flavored, from the new tropical fruit collection they’d gotten for the party.

  “Fuuuck,” the man hissed, cradling Robin’s head in his hands. “Hungry little come-slut, aren’t you?” He braced his hands firmly and fucked deeply into her throat and she immediately gagged.

  Behind her, Carl gave her a heavy-handed spank on her butt. “Hey, asshole, pay attention! You know better than that! I’m so sorry, master. He is the worst cocksucker in the house.”

  “No... no. I like I little of this. I like choking ’em a little. Especially when they look like some high school drama club fag.”

  Robin did know better, she was just so turned on and shocked at Carl’s little surprise that she was taken way off guard. She coughed a little, relaxing her throat muscles and when the next deep thrust came, she was better prepared. This time, she swirled her tongue along the base as he fucked forward and exhaled sharply and quickly, feeling the spongy head of the cock fit into her throat like a plug in a socket.

  “Ahhhh,” the man sighed. “Good boy. That’s some nice long-tongue action there. See, he’s not that bad. Hit him again, Carl. He likes it.”

  Carl’s heavy hands whacked her ass cheeks steadily, one heavy swat to each cheek in a steady rhythm as the guest continued to slowly fuck her face and throat. Robin didn’t know what to do with her hands―when she rai
sed them to reach for the man’s legs, Carl jerked them back and folded her wrists up behind her back.

  That only made things better. The combined feeling of being denied that much contact with her face-fucking master-of-the-moment and the discipline of keeping her arms behind her were two terribly wonderful spices to add to this sexual mélange. She kept sucking and swiping her tongue, worked at keeping her throat open or at least receptive. When that failed and she misjudged a thrust, her chokes amused the man, and kept him going.

  In the distance the party continued, hard thumping beats of the music vibrating the floor under her knees, sharp thwacking sounds of paddles and whips echoing, someone far away screaming, and through it all, that deep masculine laughter. The cock she was sucking smelled like sweat and salt underneath the cloying mango condom, and the man was wearing some kind of leather pants or shorts or chaps―she could smell those, too. And under all of that, the faintest scent of pine.

  “Ahh, fuck, take that cock, you cocksucking bootslut, take me nice and deep, like you licked my fucking boots...” the man crooned to her as he ground his cock deep enough to make her gentle choke into a stomach-lurching gag.

  “Yeah, fuck his throat, master,” Carl encouraged, his slaps pounding against her ass. “Let him feel it!”

  The man grunted and used her head, her face, and her throat, to grind his cock close to orgasm. Then, he jerked out and stripped the condom off and fisted his cock. Robin couldn’t help but gasp, and knew it sounded hungry and desperate. She could hear the moist slapping sounds and knew when he was doing and wanted so terribly to be able to taste it, to drink him down. But he did obey the rules as far as that went, and his come splattered into her hair, a few droplets snaking down her forehead and over the blindfold. Without the backyard distractions like sun and wind and all the bootblacking supplies, it was like being anointed with warm oil, the slight smell of bleach tingling in her nose.

  “Heh,” the man sighed, milking the rest of the come out of his dick and wiping himself off in her hair. “Worth the risk. Get him out of here before you get into trouble, Carl.”

  “Sure thing, master. Glad to be of service!”

  * * * *

  Carl folded his arms and grinned at her while she scrubbed her hair again―for the fourth time today? Fifth? She had lost count.

  “Are you going to be in trouble?’ she asked him, as she rubbed herself down with a towel.

  “Fuck no, Rob. Think I’d really do that without permission? Eric said I could work the forbidden fruit angle on that guy, he’s such a horndog for chicken.” He chuckled. “You made him come faster than Muscledog did!”

  Robin laughed and then coughed. Her throat was sore from dryness and that abrasive fucking. “I am exhausted,” she admitted, sinking down onto the toilet seat. “And I am so horny!”

  “Well, then I guess you won’t mind that you’re off duty until breakfast! Eric says we’d be pushing it to let you out there at night when things get a little, um... rough.”

  Robin looked up at him, amazed. “Rougher than today?”

  “Yeah, well, you know... it gets late, guys get sloppy. You get some sleep, be up at five to help with the coffee and breakfast service, OK?” He patted her shoulder and adjusted his kilt. Then he flashed her another grin. “And by the way? You’ll be blacking again for the guys about to leave. Expect about ten pairs of boots tomorrow morning. Then, the Masters say if any of us can still get it up when they’re all gone, you’re the one who has to take care of it. All dressed in your fag boy suit.”

  Robin sighed and rubbed her throat in expectation. If indeed the three guys could get some cocks up, she had no doubt they’d be eager. Then, she grinned and looked up again.

  “That’s harsh,” she whispered, saving her tender throat.

  About the Author

  Laura Antoniou has become well known in the erotically alternative community as the creator of the Marketplace series (The Marketplace, The Slave, The Trainer, The Academy and The Reunion), the first three volumes of which were originally published under the name Sara Adamson. One Marketplace character also appears in her first book, The Catalyst, but she leaves the reader to figure that out. The only independently written Marketplace short story, “Brian on the Farm,” appears in Lawrence Schimel and Carol Queen’s ground-breaking anthology, Switch Hitters: Lesbians Write Gay Male Erotica, and Gay Men Write Lesbian Erotica (Cleis), which has been published in English and in German.

  Antoniou has also had great success as an editor, creating the Leatherwomen anthologies which highlighted new erotic work, By Her Subdued, a collection of stories about dominant women, and No Other Tribute, which features submissive women. Her nonfiction anthologies include Some Women and an homage to author John Preston entitled Looking for Mr. Preston. Antoniou’s work has been published in the United States, Germany, Japan, Israel and Korea, to international acclaim.

  Antoniou’s short stories also appear in other anthologies, most recently in SM Classics, edited by Susan Wright; Things Invisible To See: Gay and Lesbian Tales of Magic Realism, edited by Lawrence Schimel; The Second Coming, edited by Pat Califia and Robin Sweeney; Once Upon a Time: Erotic Fairy Tales for Women, edited by Mike Ford; Ritual Sex, edited by Tristan Taormino and David Aaron Clark; and Best Lesbian Erotica 1997, edited by Tristan Taormino. Antoniou was also a columnist for Girlfriends magazine from 1995-1997, the submissions editor for Badboy and Bi-Curious magazines from 1995-96, a regular contributor to The SandMUtopia Guardian, and a short-lived columnist for Alt.com. She is a highly demanded speaker at schools, leather/SM and sexuality conferences, and has become well known for her rants, thinly disguised as keynote speeches.

  Antoniou is currently finishing the sixth book in the Marketplace series, entitled The Inheritor. She has no intention to stop there.

  The Marketplace Series

  Now Published by Circlet Press’s Luster Editions

  Circlet Press is proud to be returning the entire Marketplace series by Laura Antoniou to print, as well as launching all-new ebook editions. These books are the first in our Luster Editions line of erotic books and books of alternative sexuality that are not science fiction or fantasy.

  The Marketplace, available now as ebook or paperback

  The Slave, available now as ebook or paperback

  The Trainer, Summer 2011

  The Academy, Fall 2011

  The Reunion, Winter 2011

  The Inheritor―in the works!

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