Shamed

by Theresa Taylor

  The man came to Nera and held her face in his hand. He moved her head from side to side to offer a full profile to the expectant crowd. “How much am I bid?” he asked the crowd.

  “Fifty.” A man called out.

  “You think I would give this girl away? Look at these breasts, look at this physique? She is a jewel.”

  Nera closed her eyes, conscious as she was of the attention being forced upon her. She felt the eyes of the entire crowd measuring her, assessing her.

  “Look at that face, those thighs, those hips!”

  “Her legs are closed. We can see nothing!” called a voice from the crowd.

  The robed man shrugged and nodded and the old woman stepped forward, grabbed both of Nera’s ankles and forced them apart. Nera was stunned, she gasped loudly and began to plead to the sea of faces, but they ignored her words and she realised exactly where all their attention was focused. A breeze blew across her body, as if to accentuate her predicament, sending her nerves tingling and to her amazement brought about a sensation that she did not wish to admit to in her exposed state. She felt her nipples tighten and extend. Her labia tingled. The man firmly kicked her legs apart.

  “Here, she has as soft and inviting a slit as you have ever seen, has she not? Surely she is worth 200?”

  A derisory cry went up from the crowd. “200? She should be able to do much with that cunt for that price!”

  “You are doubters?” The man questioned. He reached down and with rough hardened fingers spread Nera’s labia apart, now leaving her more exposed than she had imagined possible. She was taken aback by the sensation that the feel of his weathered fingers made on the soft delicate skin of her lips. She attempted to pull herself away from him but a smarting swipe from a crop held by the old woman forced her to resume the posture that was so encapsulating the crowd.

  “How much can she take?” One man asked.

  The robed slave trader firmed his grip holding her apart and with the other hand reached down and a thick finger searched for the opening to her vagina. He was callous and rough with her but she felt her heart burst into a terrific rhythm within her chest as he did so. Surely not....he couldn’t? Locating her opening he thrust the finger knuckle deep into her. Nera’s breath locked in her lungs as she felt the thickness of the digit rise inside her. Then her breath escaped in a gasp as the intruding finger twisted around for a few moments inside her. He withdrew the finger slowly then held it before his eyes. He turned to the crowd and held up the finger for all to see. “Look, she is wet. She likes it! She is worth 250 I say.”

  Nera felt her face burn up with humiliation. Was she wet? How could she be? She was being violated, abused and yet, she could see for herself the evidence of the glistening finger.

  The man turned again to face her. Nera’s mouth fell open. He reached down again and inserted the finger into her once more, only this time he inserted a second finger bringing an involuntary guttural moan from her, before withdrawing again and showing the crowd as if to confirm the findings of the first time. Now the old woman reached from behind her and pinched her nipples hard. “Look!” she squawked “The puella has fine stalks for nipples!” Nera yelped from the unexpected pain then looked down mesmerised by how large and stiff her nipples were. She had never seen them like that before and the pain, the pain continued on through her body changing as it went, changing to a tingling, needing, intoxicating pleasure as it arrived at her clitoris.

  “And look at her clitoris!” The man announced as if recognising her sensations. He held apart her labia once more and flicked his finger against the bud of her clitoris. “Look at how attentive it is!” Nera felt an explosion within her body that rippled through her. She hadn’t even known what that thing down there was called and now? now, she was breathing heavily, trembling through the stimulus. Her cheeks and breasts were flushed and now she was sure of her state of arousal as she felt her juices trickle down the inside of her thighs.

  “So who will bid me 200?” asked the man.

  A woman pushed her way to the front of the crowd.

  “I have three sons that need satisfying. How do I know that she is good for the task?”

  Satisfy? Nera had heard the old women of her village use this expression when talking in hushed voices. She knew what it meant and now the reality of her situation struck home. At some point she had reasoned and then accepted that she was to be sold into slavery. Not until now had she considered what type of slave she would be.

  “Come see for yourself.” The man beckoned to the woman and held a hand out to her. Taking his hand she stepped gracefully up a set of steps onto the platform. She was a woman of classical beauty and obviously of high standing. Nera could see that from the expensive clothes she wore and the way she carried herself. What she could not reconcile herself to was that the woman would see a fellow female humiliated in such a way.

  “She is a fine specimen” the man was saying “She would satisfy each of them well!”

  “Perhaps” said the woman “But would she satisfy all of them at the same time?”

  Within all of Nera’s experience she could not fathom what the woman meant.

  The man now took hold of Nera’s face again and this time squeezed her cheeks until her mouth opened.

  “Look at that mouth, those lips. What son would not gain pleasure from placing his cock between them?”

  Nera looked at him in shocked horror. In an instant she had become aware of a wider world, of things that she could never have imagined. To take a man in her mouth? Should she desire to or not.......and yet she knew her desires would play no part in this.

  Nera looked to the woman with pleading eyes calling upon the woman’s sensibilities, her womanhood, to spare her from this humiliation. The woman returned the stare but it was without passion, her eyes keeping contact with Nera’s as she spoke again to the man.

  “I have three sons.” She said.

  “Of course and she may pleasure three.” The slave trader assured her.

  Nera stared in bewilderment as the man and woman began to debate.

  “If you know this then perhaps she is soiled?” the woman said.

  “No, no. See for yourself, she is a virgin pure and true.”

  “I shall.” Said the woman. Nera was lost. Comprehension had deserted her. How could a woman pleasure three men at once? The old woman loosened the rope and freed Nera for a moment. She turned her so that Nera's back was to the crowd then bent her forward and tied her into that position against the wooden rail. Nera was puzzled. Now she was bent double her bottom facing the crowd. The man kicked at her ankles forcing her legs apart and Nera was suddenly conscious again how much was on show to the faces below. It was a frightful position and she could feel by the movement of air over her body just how exposed she was. Her breasts swung freely below her and she became aware of how this made her nipples throb, which in turn started the throbbing of her clitoris once again. How could her body betray her so?

  She was brought suddenly back from her thoughts by the man’s rough hands grasping her buttocks. He spread her wide apart lifting and parting her buttocks. Was this further humiliation necessary? Could they not already see everything she had?

  “She looks unused,” the woman said. “But my three sons may be too much.”

  “No, not at all.” the man insisted, a hint of desperation in his voice. “Watch woman!”

  He again pushed two fingers into Nera’s open cunt and she was surprised at how easily he gained entry, her own juices, still flowing smoothing the way.

  “And now!” he announced as if about to perform a trick of magic in a show. Nera squealed aloud, drawing a rousing laughter from the crowd as the man now pushed a stubby hard thumb against her anus. She tensed to repel him, gasped as the tension caused her inner muscles to grip tightly around the fingers within her and in an effort to reverse this unwanted reaction she could only relax those muscles. Taking advantage of this momentary confusion the tip of his thumb pressed harder
and with a smarting pain he was into her. Her muscles tensed, then contracted, she was unable to expel his abominable intrusion into her person nor control the counter actions of her body and then all of a sudden she felt a wave of intense pleasure explode from within her womb, surging, sweeping through her, she bucked her hips impulsively driving the fingers deeper into herself which triggered another surge of ecstasy and sending pulses from her clitoris which exploded star like within her head. She cried out, aloud, a deep guttural cry from somewhere inside her and an amused raucous cheer rose from the crowd. But something else had happened to her. Her humiliation, her loathing of her situation, were swept away there and then.

  “250? It is a fair price” said the woman.

  Nera was untied from the rail and the old hag placed a rope collar around her neck. Then she handed it to the woman. In return she exchanged a bag of coins with the slave trader and lead Nera away from the platform, down the steps into the crowd and through to a waiting horse. Several of the people in the crowd took the opportunity to touch Nera’s naked body as she passed them. Hands groped at her breasts, slapped her buttocks while the woman seemed oblivious to Nera’s twisting movements and forlorn cries. Free of the crowd the woman mounted a horse and walked it forward, leading Nera on the end of the rope. She was naked yet no longer cared about the people looking at her as she was walked slowly through town toward a large villa. She was wet between her legs, her nipples were erect and she had peculiar feeling in her anus. She loved the feeling.

  As they approached the gate to the villa three young men came out to greet them. They looked Nera up and down with hungry eyes. She tossed back her head and thrust out her breasts proudly, feeling her clitoris tingle between her legs.

  “Look what mummy picked up in the market for you boys” the woman crowed.

  Colours

  The Starcatcher Club was practically empty. It was nearly eight and although the patronage could never be classed as regular (that was part of the appeal of the place, no familiar faces to run into) she had expected a far better show of talent than that which was on display tonight. Situated as it was in a back street in one of the seedier parts of town it was more likely frequented by the cities waifs and strays than by any sort of clientele. The Starcatcher was a “drop in” kind of place. No one stayed long and few revisited. It was ideal hunting ground for her.

  She sat in the high stool with her back to the bar and sipped at a vodka martini. A guy in a chequered hat stood poised over the juke box, money in hand, scouring the play list for something familiar. He wasn’t having much luck judging by the frown on his weathered face.

  In the corner, sat at a round table, were two guys who looked bored out of their minds. They cast occasional glimpses at her but she wasn’t interested. They weren’t the sort of action she was looking for tonight.

  She decided to hang on. Chances were that sometime this evening someone would turn up, looking for directions or a quick beer before he made his way into the city or home to his wife or whatever. She didn’t much care.

  It wasn’t the sort of place a woman like her would be expected to frequent. It was rare to see a woman here, most of the girls would be in the city tonight at one of the top nightclubs, looking to pull a guy with money, a car, a sense of adventure. That did nothing for her. She wasn’t out to grab herself a husband. She wanted cock. Good, hard, no strings attached, fucking. She could confidently say that she could have the pick of any of the guys at the office. She had good friends, some would be considered a top catch, but none of that had fed her hunger. It used to worry her, how she felt, that animal hunger that took overtook all commonsense thought and drove her to scouring any and all the secluded clubs looking for that off the cuff hit.

  The guys never complained. Building workers, sailors, pump attendants, postal workers. The high flyers held no appeal to her. She grew up with money. Dashing good looks and high flying whiz kids were the norm for her. Most of her friends knew who they were going to marry before they had left kindergarten.

  She wanted something else. There was nothing better than not knowing. It turned her on, put fire in her belly. Never knowing who the lucky guy was gonna be until he walked into the joint. Hell, even she didn’t know it and better still if he wasn’t even looking for it. It was a power thing too. She had outright veto. It was her choice. But was it a choice? It was a game she played with herself. It sated a need that she could neither explain nor comprehend. She liked to feel dirty. She liked to take that step away from everything around her; the money, the smart apartment, the powerful job. Afterwards she would wake up the next day and scold herself, emotionally beat herself up, tell herself she was crazy. Why would you do that to yourself? Why would you put yourself in that position? Wake up the next day, maybe a little sore, feeling like a tramp. A common slut. Knowing that you had let some wretch of a guy (or guys) maul you, touch you up, fuck you. She felt sick afterwards, but only afterwards. It would build for days before hand. Like some growing desire somewhere down below that would increase hour by hour rising in her, taking over her thoughts, her dreams. She would be a rock at work. Hard headed, confident, in control. But when she stopped for just a second she could feel the desire burning in her, calling to her.

  She lit a cigarette and ordered another vodka martini. The alcohol was warming her body nicely but she was becoming impatient. How many was that? Three drinks so far. Maybe she should go look elsewhere. She was on a high tonight. Her body was talking to her, no, screaming at her! It was desperate to get fucked. It was impossible to control herself in one of these moods. When she had left home it was with a spring in her step and before she had got the car to the end of the drive could feel that familiar wetness of anticipation.

  The guy at the juke box had given up and cleared out. The two guys in the corner pulled on their coats and strolled out giving her the customary eye as they passed. “Not a chance sonny” she spoke into her glass.

  By nine thirty she was on the verge of giving up. Her head was getting muggy from the drink and bar one earlier possibility (until his wife came in and hauled him off home) there didn’t seem to be much hope of any action. Sat alone, she slugged back the last of her drink and decided to leave.

  Just then six guys came in from the street. They jostled for the bar and ordered their beers while they took turns to eye her. She loved that part. Perched on the stool she felt a bit like a prostitute. She pretended not to see them but made a play of crossing her legs for their benefit.

  “Hey bartender, you got a pool or snooker table or anything here?” one asked.

  “Sure, snooker” The bartender answered. “Go through the door at the back. Left for the toilets, right for the snooker room” The guys snatched up their beers and noisily disappeared through the door at the back of the room.

  She felt a gentle purring start up in her groin. A couple of the guys had looked ok and this may be the only chance of the evening. She waited a few moments, finished her cigarette and headed for the toilet. As she went through the door she could hear the loud conversation of the guys. She discretely looked through the window of the snooker room door. They were playing some sort of game where each was taking a turn. She knew little about playing snooker but it didn’t look to be the correct way to play.

  In the ladies she took a few minutes to spruce herself up. Touching up her deep red lipstick and brushing her dark brown shoulder length locks. She knew she was attractive and her figure was good but going over the top was part of the game. She undid an extra button on her blouse which was already low and slipped off her knickers. Stuffing them into her bag, she took a last look in the mirror feeling her heart rate increase as she did so.

  “Hannah Christian, you are a disgrace!” she exclaimed to the reflection. “You are a wanton whore!” then after a brief pause she winked at herself “Perfect!”

  The fun of the chase had her wet already and she could feel the dampness between her thighs. She crossed the corridor and took another look through
the glass pain of the door. Just as she rose onto her tiptoes two guys burst through the door with arms full of empty glasses heading back to the bar for refills.

  “Hello Honey!” a tall guy with an Elvis quiff said stopping in his tracks.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” she apologised making way for him.

  The guys in the room spotted her and jeered. “Why don’t we invite the lady in Dean?” one of them called. The guy with the quiff kicked the door open wide “You wanna join us?”

  “Umm....OK” Hannah played it as innocently as she could.

  She entered the room, every pair of eyes following her every step. Like a piece of meat she thought to herself. The words “lamb” and “wolf’s lair” sprang into her mind and her heart started to pound.

  A big guy in a green shirt pulled up a stool for her and she gratefully took her place on it. She knew how she looked sat there in her short skirt, all thighs and calves and she knew it would be a struggle to sit comfortably in a way that hid her lack of underwear. It was a good job that wasn’t high on her priorities. The one called Dean returned with his buddy and a tray full of beer glasses. They all grabbed at their drinks and called for the game to resume.

  “We’re playing knock out snooker” Dean told her, trying to make himself heard above the noise. “We take turns to play, when you miss potting the ball you are out. Once you are out you have to buy a round. “I was out first!” he gave a resigned shrug.

  “And what does the winner get?” she asked

  “Oh, we all put in $10. So he wins the $60 prize”

  “Not much of an incentive.” She observed.

  “It makes a game of it.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better with a more substantial prize?” Hannah asked. Dean looked at her with a puzzled expression.

  “Maybe if I was the prize it would be more fun.” She offered up loudly so everyone in the room could hear.

  A buzz of excited whispers flowed around the room, a raise of her eyebrows put the message across that she was serious. It was followed by roars of “Come on then! Let’s play.” She watched them for a few moments, sizing up the guys. She was gonna get to fuck one of them. Which one? She loved this part of the game too. Which one of these guys was gonna fuck her? Which one was gonna get to ram his hard dick into her and make her come?