Biker Auction Ch. 02

"There you are. Come now, it's time to get started."

Again there is something about the tone, commanding, powerful. Not domineering, well perhaps a bit, but not the brusk way a male Dom might talk, but very effective -- you obey without thinking, and follow her. As you reach the front of the room the lights start to dim. While it's mid-afternoon, there are no windows in the conference room and, with the doors closed, the effect is of twilight. As the lights go down you hear a soft hum from the speakers in the ceiling, white noise to drown out the sound of the room.

You are lead up four stairs onto a small stage in the front of the room and all eyes turn to you. There is a tall woman standing in the center of the stage with a wireless microphone in her hands. She is large -- not fat or overly muscled, but defined. She is wearing bike leathers, tailored to her figure and exudes power and command.

As you reach the center of the stage you feel all eyes in the room on you as the woman with the microphone says: "The bidding will start at $1,000."

A voice behind you says 'your Mistress offered you as part of the fundraiser.'

There is something about the voice that your brain struggles with. Obviously, a woman. There is power, of course, but a gentleness, no that's not the right word, a kindness to her voice. You feel safe, giving yourself over to her. Until you realize that you are not giving yourself over to her, but to whomever purchases you.

The bidding continues, increasing to numbers that your mind struggles to understand. $20,000. $40,000. As it gets to $75,000 the bidding slows and stops at $82,000.

"$82,000 for breast cancer research! Let's give our buyer a big hand!"

The crowd applauds, a bit more than polite applause, perhaps jealous.

The buyer walks to the stage and climbs the stairs -- you get your first look and she takes your breath away. Like so many of the women you have seen this day, she is tall, muscular -- not fat, not with the lean body of an exercise nut, but she is clearly physically powerful. She is wearing leather, black leather, a cross between biker gear and bondage gear and, as she wraps her collar around your neck, you get the very clear impression that she gets her way. Always.

The collar is different than you have experienced before. It is, you now know, referred to as a posture collar -- it's very tall and stiff forcing you to hold your chin up and it comes up high under your jaw bone so that you cannot turn your head. She attaches her leash to the front of the leash and leads you down the stairs. Again, it's not as rough as you have experienced before, she doesn't jerk the leash, but exudes power and control. You are fairly certain that with our without the collar and leash, you would follow her without her saying anything.

You follow her through the crowd which parts to let you both pass -- the crowd parts with plenty of space for her, but closes in around you, hands brushing your body as you are lead through the crowd. She leads you out of the doors of the meeting room into the main part of the hotel. As you walk down the hallway to the elevator, you try to imagine what the other guests must be seeing -- you in tight leather, impossibly high heels and the posture collar being led by a leash. The thought of it makes you wet and you feel the crotch of the pants pressing against you as with each stride.

She says nothing as she leads you into the elevator and up to the top floor. She leads you down the hallway to the corner suite, unlocks the door and walks in pulling the leash behind her. Inside the room you see that she has personalized it, just a bit. The furniture has been moved to the edges of the room and in the center is a free standing metal frame that reached almost to the ceiling. You recognize it as a stand for a sex swing and your pussy gets still wetter. You've always wanted to try one.

She leads you forward towards the stand and loops the leash over the top bar, forcing you to stand with your head held high inorder to breath. You hear her moving around the room but can't see what she is doing.

You feel her hand rest on your hip from behind, feel her hands start to explore you through the leather.

'I just spent a great deal of money on you' she starts.

'I know it is for a good cause, but I expect to get my money out of you.'

'If you understand, nod your head.'

You try to nod yes in response, something that the posture collar makes very difficult.

You feel her hands exploring you, probing, stroking, through your leather clothing and try to twist towards her as she moves around you.

'Now, that just won't do.'

She takes your right wrist, wraps a sturdy cuff around it and pulls it up to the right, clipping it to a rope through a pulley on the top right corner of the stand. Next, your left wrist is similarly bound. Next your ankles -- you are tied, spread eagle, in the center of a hotel room by a woman who has just spent $82,000 to purchase you.

She pulls on the rope attached to your right wrist, stretching you just a bit, and ties it off and then does the same to your left wrist. She moves in front of you and places a tripod with a production quality camera in front of you at just below face level.

'Oh, you didn't think that this was all charitable did you?' she says.

The red light on the camera comes on -- it's recording.

'Oh, and don't worry that we wont' get your best angle, there are several other cameras.'

We. She said 'we.' Who, you wonder, is 'we?'

She pulls back the curtains as you recall that this is a corner room, which means windows on two sides. You look out the window in front of you -- that's the only one you can see -- and see into the hotel across the narrow street. Someone is having a party and the balcony is full of revelers who, you are sure, are in for quite a sight.

The lights dim -- so they can see in better you are sure -- and you hear the door open.

'Come in ladies.'

You hear people enter but, because of the carpet, cannot tell who or how many -- particularly bound as you are with the posture collar.

'Help yourself to drinks.'

You hear ice being dropped into glasses, bottles being opened, but very little talk.

'Is she prepared?'

A new voice. Female, not quite as powerful as the woman who purchased you, but not in the least bit weak.

'As you can see, she is ready.'

You feel hands on your hips, sliding down, over your thighs, pulling on zippers and snaps until the center of your pants fall away. You feel the cool air of the room on your wet pussy as you are stripped -- at least partially stripped. The legs of the pants, tight to the point of constricting, remain but your pussy and ass are exposed. You feel fingers from behind you slide into you, spreading you open.

'Yes, I can see that she's ready.'

'Who gets to go first?'

A new voice. How many are there?

'I believe I went first last time, so one of you should get the honors.'

After a brief discussion, a decision is made.

She -- and you don't know who, of course -- circles you, her hands lightly grazing your skin, moving from the leather of your pants to your bare ass, unzipping the jacket freeing your breasts. As she moves in front of you, you get the first glimpse of the woman who gets first crack at you and are surprised.

Unlike the woman who purchased you, she has clearly let herself go -- she is quite large, barely contained by her bike leathers, and wears thigh soled boots. Serious biker chick and, from the look on her face, not a bit of a sense of humor.

She unloops the leash from the over head cross bar and runs it through a pulley on the bottom bar of the stand so that as she pulls on the leash, your neck and head is pulled down. The combination of this tension with your arms tied, spread, is intense, straining your shoulders.

She sits in a chair in front of you and pulls on the leash, pulling you down as someone loosens the ropes holding your wrists. Loosens, a bit, but never quite enough, as you are bent forward, your arms are pulled back, spread, over you head until you think your shoulders will dislocate. Just at the edge, where you think you can't take more and will suffer serious injury, the wrist ropes are loosened just a bit more.

As you bend forward, your eyes meet first the camera (so that's how she's going to recoup what she spent!) and then the crowd on the balcony across the street, pointing and staring.

You look forward and see that the woman sitting in front of you, her pants off and her leather jacket open revealing large breasts and an ample belly. She leans back, spreading her legs and as your face gets closer, hooks her right leg over your shoulder, pulling you towards her pussy.

The strain on your shoulders is intense as you are bent forward. You strain forward with your tongue in the belief that the only way to get any relief is to please her. As you are pulled forward, your face is pulled into her pussy -- not the sweetest pussy you have ever licked, but you don't care - all you want is to please her in the hope that you will be released, the pain in your shoulders is intense.

She diggs her heels into the small of your back, goading you on as you lick her pussy, spreading her lips with your tongue, sucking on her clit. As she adds pressure to your back, the strain in your shoulders increases still further. You feel the sweat running down your back, her juices running down your chin, as she bucks against your face. She reaches forward grabbing your left breast, squeezing it -- not a gentle caress, but a serious squeeze, rolling your nipples between her fingers, pulling on it, stretching.

You are so focused on her that you don't feel the hands on your ass, spreading you, probing your pussy and ass from behind until you feel the tip of a dildo, slick with lube press against your ass.

You have no time to prepare yourself -- whoever is handling the dildo (and it's clearly a strap on) slams forward, driving the dildo into your ass, forcing your face into her pussy, and stretching your arms still further. You scream into her pussy as she cums, drenching your face with her juices.