The Scheming Fucktoy

"Sold!"

My heart sank. The auctioneer strutted up to me and pushed a button on my collar, confirming my new ownership. Sadly, I looked up at the crowd ahead as a gaggle of young women thronged down to claim their prize.

I am not a toy. I am not just some sexual plaything. I am Slim Tim, and I a sensation in the slaveboy wrestling world. I was on TV for years, facing one boy after the next, and I took them all down. The fans loved me. The network loved me. My owners loved me.

But that was over. I had just lost one fight, and, by the rules of the network, that meant that my fighting career was finished. My trainer said something about giving rookies a chance, but I wasn't listening. I had barely listened to anything since I lost that last fight.

As one of my new owners excitedly collared and leashed me, I felt a hand on my butt and a few more perusing my torso. Looking dejectedly up, I saw most of the women to be wearing matching tee shirts. I tried to take a closer look, only to cringe as one of them squeezed my balls too hard. When I focused again, I saw the shirt to be the uniform of the Slim Tim Fan Club.

I knew them. They were a sorority of fangirls. I had seen them before; I had met them and written them all autographs. Suffice it to say that I probably shouldn't have been surprised that they ended up purchasing me.

The exact moment they unstrapped my feet from the floor, the whole mob of them enveloped me, sweeping me off my feet and hauling me out of the auction house, cheering deliriously. As I tired to regain my orientation, I felt at least six hands groping me at once, squeezing my butt, running across my smooth chest muscles and grabbing at my penis. With female hands grasping me up and down the length of my arms and legs, all I could do was writhe and twist against them. Even though I knew I could not escape, it amazed me that I failed even to slow them down. Their combined strength was nothing short of astonishing.

In this morass of groping hands, I neglected to look around to see where we were going. It seemed only minutes into our spontaneous parade when the women arranged into a line and, still not letting me touch the ground, pulled me through a narrow doorway. Their fondling briefly subsided and their pace quickened as they hurried around a series of corners, then suddenly dropped me onto a plush surface.

Finally, they backed away, and I looked around the room. Firstly, I noticed that the walls were plastered with what was probably every Slim Tim poster ever made. Below these, cushions haphazardly covered the floor, broken only by a wide couch and a shallow, queen-size bed with shackles hooked to each bedpost.

On the wall next to the door, I saw a rack of sex toys, consisting of a standard array of gags and male restraints to gas masks, clips and, to my disconcert, strapon dildos. These implements were all colored the same shade of oceanic blue as my hair.

These stood out among the rest of the room, which was, from the furniture to the walls and even the light, colored various shades of red and pink.

While I took all this in, most of the women whispered among themselves, and the rest sat and stared at me with vacant smiles. Mildly frightened, I crawled back against the wall and stared back. The gawkers blinked a total of five times.

Eventually, the whispering women turned back to me, and two of them approached me. The first was a dark-skinned one with a black ponytail and the second was a paler one with purple hair worn in a bob. Smoothly, they each wrapped their arms around one of my shoulders and pulled me up.

At this point, a proper sex slave would have gone limp, or perhaps walked with them. Instead, I resisted. With a muted grunt, I pulled my left arm from the grasp of the purple-haired woman and shoved the dark-skinned one away.

Both women staggered, releasing me. When they faced me, their faces were portraits of surprise and indignation.

I was not sure what my plan was now. Getting them away from me had felt right, but now my instincts abandoned me. Realizing that I had adopted my fighting stance, I hesitated.

My dilemma was answered for me when I took a slap straight across the left cheek. If that had been a punch, I would have reflexively maintained my stance. Instead, I crumpled to the ground.

"On your knees," ordered one of them.

It had been years since I got an order like that, but I knew what to do. Hoisting myself up, I knelt in front of them and looked at the ground.

The dark-skinned woman grabbed my chin with her thumb and forefinger, then turned me up to face her.

"Don't you dare resist us, Slim Tim," she restricted, speaking through a growing smile. "You're ours now."

I stared back at her, waiting for her to continue.

"So..." prompted Purple-hair, "What do we say?"

"I... what?" I stammered out.

Both women chuckled.

"Say, 'yes, mistress.'"

"Yes, mistress," I repeated.

"Good," approved Purple-hair. "Now get on that bed."

"Yes, mistress."

Smoothly, I stood up and crawled onto the pink bed, then sat down cross-legged on it, facing them.

I tried to keep a straight face as the entire sorority closed in on me, and the dark-skinned woman grabbed my foot and unfolded my leg, showing just a peek of my genitals. As she locked the leg in place and skirted around to the other side, Purple-hair leaned on the footboard and leered at me, licking her lips as she took in every inch of my well-trained musculature.

As the dark-skinned woman pulled away my other leg, exposing my treasure, Purple-hair shucked off her clothes with suspicious speed and crawled up onto the bed. Kneeling in front of me, she grabbed my abdomen. With a grin, she pulled me up to a sitting position, her fingers closing around the firm ridges of my core muscles.

I felt her heat. As she pressed against me, I half-expected her to orgasm on the spot. Instead, she separated from me and looked down, seeing my masculinity erect and waiting for her.

As a few hands from the sides of the bed came in and probed all over my body, Purple hair pushed me onto my back and hissed, "Back off, it's my turn!"

Spreading her legs and straddling me, Purple-hair looked straight down at me, her hair forming a halo around her face as it drooped toward me. With another lick of her lips, she shifted her weight.

All at once, I felt her heat and moisture slide down over my waiting masculinity, her hips slamming against mine. I resisted her force to the best of my ability, trying to act like I was blocking an opponent's hit, but this was not like fighting. In a fight, I always had perfect control of my body. My nervous system was aflame, and my muscles were like bowstrings. Now, I was quickly losing control of my body; my nervous system was awash with sex and my muscles endured one spasm after the next, completely at her mercy.

When I opened my eyes, her face was just inches from mine, her hot breath breaking on my sweating skin. Her hands tightened around my shoulders, which tensed with each thrust, and her nails dug into my skin.

"Don't... don't you dare cum yet," she hissed through gritted teeth.

Inwardly, I doubted that I could control that.

Mercifully, her bucking soon slowed, and I could feel her shuddering for a few moments. Then she erupted, nearly dislocating my shoulder as she squeezed, squirting all over me.

For a few moments, we sat there. She panted with exertion, smiling a thin, broad smile as afterglow simmered in her brain. Sitting back, still engulfing me, she seemed unaware that I was dangerously on the brink of orgasm.

At last, she withdrew from my pulsing manhood and slid off the bed. I went limp, all except for my organ, which stayed up like a flagpole.

"Don't rest yet, Slim Tim," said the dark-skinned woman, shuffling up to me.

Looking up, I saw her climb onto the bed and close her fingers around my testicles, passing them softly around in her hands for a few seconds. I cringed, expecting her to squeeze too hard, but she never did. Instead, she disengaged and looped a leg over me. As she did, I caught a sight of what was behind her and recoiled visibly.

The entire sorority stood impatiently in a single-file line before the bed. Some of them held up phones, recording my performance, and some others read from tablets, but each member was waiting for her turn.

"Oh god..." I dreaded.

I can't remember when I came first. All I know is that, when I did, I still had most of the women left to go. Eventually, they got creative, using every sex toy in their repertoire to get what they had bought me for. As soon as I could get hard again, I managed only one more taker before spending. After that, it was a cavalcade of oral pleasure, fingering and kissing.

As soon as the last one finished using me, I collapsed. The minute she turned out the lights, I fell asleep.

* * *

Sometime in the night, I awoke to the sound of the door opening, then closing again. The light remained off, but I could hear footsteps padding towards me in an uneven gait.

"Is someone there?" I called.

"Get on your back, I'm still horny," ordered a bleary female voice.

"Don't you people ever sleep?" I moaned, turning over.

Ignoring me, the woman pried my legs open, then, to my surprise, brought her head down. With a sudden jolt, I felt the warm wateriness of her mouth over my manhood, sucking the overused organ slowly to erection.

I decided not mention that I hadn't washed that days. Instead, like a proper sex slave, I sat back and accepted her desire, doing what I could to harden for her.

Then I heard the door open.

"Alice, did you want him, too?" asked the woman using me. "I'll be done with him in just a minute."

"Oh crap!" sputtered a male voice.

The door slammed shut. There was a moment of silence.

"Who was that?" asked the woman.

That had sounded like a question, but I knew that she didn't expect me to answer. Even so, I asked the same question. Normally, I would have dismissed it, but I could have sworn I recognized that voice from somewhere.

Seeming to share my curiosity, the woman got up and made slowly for the door, stopping halfway there to retrieve her pants and shirt, sliding them both hastily on.

The door slid open, then there was an electronic snap and a dull thump.

"Lights on," warned a gentle male voice.

As soon as the door eased shut, the light came on. Bathed in pink glow was a man with thick, short brown hair, intense eyes of the same color and a stocky torso with subtle ripples marking his muscles. He wore a slave collar, but he walked with confidence. Over his shoulder, he carried the woman who was using me, seemingly unconscious. For clothes, he wore a utility belt and nothing else, showing off his smooth, stout manhood.

"Got her," he said to himself. "That was a close one."

He leveled his pretty eyes on me and smiled.

"Slim Tim..." he addressed. "It's been a long time. I see the boyfights finally dropped you. If it's any consolation, I don't think anyone else has ever lasted that long in the league."

"Are... are you a fan?" I guessed.

"Hah," he chuckled, "Yes, actually, but I'm not here for the reasons you're thinking."

"What?"

"I'll explain in a minute. Scoot over."

Standing up, I watched, amazed, as the visitor set the woman down on the bed, then turned her onto her back. Yanking off her shorts, he exposed her vagina, which, to my amusement, was still wet. Moving up to her shirt, he inexpertly pulled it up and off of her, causing her voluminous breasts to jiggle.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Getting a bit of revenge," the visitor explained, grabbing a ball gag. "Mistress authorized me to leave a calling card, so here's mine."

Saying this, he gagged the nude, limp woman, then stretched the shackles from the bedposts to her limps and bound her.

I could not help but smile.

Climbing onto the bed, he looked for a moment like he might ravage her, only to pull a marker out from his utility belt and write something on her warm but motionless body. When he stood up, I read it.

'Horny dyke,' it said, 'please help.'

"Wow," I whistled. "You have guts."

Smiling at my compliment, he discreetly scribbled onto her side, 'The fighting fucktoy was here.'

"The fighting fucktoy?" I read aloud. "Is that what you call yourself?"

"That's going to be my criminal name," he explained. "Now, come here."

Nervously, I stepped up to him, only for him to grab my collar gently and place some large rectangular device next to it. A moment later, it emitted a piezoelectric beep.

"Excellent," he purred. "Tracking device is KO. You're off the grid for the next few hours."

"How did you do that?" I marveled. "And who are you? What do you want with me?"

The visitor looked at me and cracked a wry grin.

"So, you still haven't figured it out yet, have you?" he said. "Surely, you haven't forgotten your old opponent? I'd like to think I put up a better fight than that."

Looking at him, I thought back to every boy I had ever faced, trying to come up with something familiar in the cavalcade of faces.

"Fishback?" I tried. "Simon Fishback?"

"The one and only," Simon confirmed. "Good to meet you again, Tim. Are you ready to make your escape?"

"Yes," I answered, without hesitation. "Where to?"

"I can't tell you here," Simon denied. "But it'll be a darn sight better than this place. My owner set up a hidden camera, and we watched those girls plowing you last night. They really pulled out all the stops, didn't they?"

"They did," I confirmed, shuddering. "I thought they loved me. How could they treat me that way?"

"They were fans," Simon granted, "but that doesn't mean they love you. They wanted to fuck you. Can't say I don't see where they're coming from."

I gave him a strange look.

"Relax, relax," he calmed, "I'm not going to try anything unless my mistress asks me to."

"Am I going to meet your mistress?" I asked.

"Yes," he answered. "You'll have to. Those girls didn't use condoms, so you probably have all the STD's in the world by now. She can fix that. Now come on. Time's wasting."

My head still spinning, I followed Simon back out of the room, taking one look back at the bound woman. I shook my head with disbelief.

Outside, Simon walked with a crouch that completely silenced his barefooted steps, and he carried some electronic device in front of him. Peeking over his shoulder, I saw some readout that I couldn't begin to understand- just a series of numbers and what looked like a heartbeat monitor. Whatever it was, Simon seemed to know what to do with it.

With expert certainty, he led me by the leash down one clinical white metal hallway, then the next. All the while, I clung desperately to little landmarks like fire extinguishers and paintings, but he seemed to have no such necessity.

"Whoah," he arrested, stopping suddenly. "Hold up."

"What's the matter?"

"Someone's coming."

A split second later, he flashed a card of some kind in front of the door to a supply closet, then yanked it open and pushed me in. The next moment, he squeezed in with me and quietly shut the door.

In the Spartan confines of the closet, I was pressed against the back wall, and the near door forced Simon up against me. I could feel his smooth, warm skin on my back, and I felt his crotch pressed up against my butt cheeks. I knew I should have been embarrassed, but, after my feminine defilement, his strong flesh felt good. Judging by a slight bulge I felt pressing against me, he felt the same way.

Simon moved behind me, causing his bulge to shift. I shuddered.

"He's gone," Simon announced. "Let's get going."

"Okay."

The next moment, he came out of the closet. I followed out and shut the door, imitating his slowness.

"That's good," he approved. "Now, it should be down this hall, then up a few floors."

Absently, he grabbed my leash and pulled me along, dividing his gaze between the empty halls ahead and the device in his hands. At the end of the hall, the door opened up to an elevator, where a thin, tough-looking man waited, wearing a coat that concealed most of his figure, but gloves that showed off his impressively meaty hands.

The door closed, and there was an awkward pause.

"Who owns you two?" the man casually asked.

"Andrew Cogburn, sir," said Simon.

Simon had mentioned a mistress. He must have had the presence of mind to lie.

"Hey," he whispered to me. "Get behind this guy. I want to be able to take him down if he comes after us."

Suddenly growing nervous, I started edging around behind the man. Unfortunately, neither of us remembered my leash, and I nearly tipped as it pulled taught.

The man turned around.

"What are you boys up to?"

"Nothing, sir."

The man gave us a scrutinizing look. Simon kept a straight face, and I attempted to do the same. I was less successful.

"What your master's number?" asked the man.

"Now, Tim!"

As Simon said this, his hand darted out like a snake's head and caught the man in the base of the neck. As I watched, stunned, the man staggered back, then recovered and caught Simon's next blow, grabbing him and hurling him to the ground.

"Filthy punks!" the man barked. "I used to be a cop! You think I didn't see that coming?"

At last, I snapped into action, leaping onto the man's back, latching my arms around his neck and my legs around his torso.

The man struggled and grabbed for me, rocking with unnerving ease. Just as he got a grip on my hair, Simon got to his feet, clamped his hand around my antagonists' neck and pulled. Our adversary fell forward with me still astride him. I started to get off.

"No!" Simon protested, "Don't let him up! Bind his hands!"

"With what?"

"Here, just hold him."

Drawing a pair of handcuffs from a pouch on his utility belt, Simon deftly bound the man, then pushed me off, flipped him over and gagged him with a short piece of cloth. Then he drew out his marker.

"I love this part," he commented.

Placing his knee on the man's groin, Simon efficiently tore away his clothes, then scribbled his signature onto his victim's chest.

"Not so tough now, are you?" Simon taunted.

The elevator stopped, and the door opened behind us.

"Alright. Follow me. The getaway boat is just around this corner."

Looking feverishly about, I followed Simon to a door, then, when he opened it, recoiled and shaded my eyes; the sunlight outside blinded me.

"Yep, check it out," Simon introduced. "Broad daylight. How long has it been since you saw the sun?"

"Not sure..." I mumbled.

"Just follow me."

I obeyed the pull of the leash and descended a small flight of stairs. By the time we reached the bottom, my eyes had adjusted.

all around me, shining white skyscrapers rose from concrete islands while boats of every size and shape rumbled though the Venetian roads between them.

This was Pacific- a city cut off from the rest of the civilize world. A city of slaves.

As I took in the view, Simon led me into an inconspicuous boat waiting just outside the building, then set its engine roaring to life.

"They never took you to the surface, did they, Tim?" said Simon. "Me neither. It's another one of those things masters just never think of."

I tensed up as a police boat cruised past us.

"Relax," said Simon. "We're home free. Now, look presentable. We're almost at Mistress' house."

There was a pause.

"She doesn't bite, does she?" I asked.

"Hah," he scoffed, cracking a smile. "That depends on your point of view."

He pulled up to someone's door and shut off the engine, then gently tugged my leash and led me up the stairs into an apartment building, then to a door. There, he rapped twice, paused deliberately, then two more times.

Three seconds passed, and the door slid open. In the doorway stood a heavily built woman with a firm face and a thin but formidably muscled pair of arms.