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Slave Six was not the first to appear on stage on that fateful night. She was, in fact, the last. The show, if one were to call it that, would begin with Slave One who was already onstage waiting behind another curtain. She could hear the music and the crowd as the voice of the MC crackled over the speakers. It gave her the shivers.
One had been imprisoned the longest. She had become almost acclimated to the routines of bondage and even to witnessing her own debauchery in front of Sheba, Mistress X, and even the Bartz brothers. They had seen her nude almost every day. They had treated her well too. They seldom punished and, even if they did, they certainly did not mark her flawless skin. The sounds of the crowd, however, filled her with a growing sense of fright, of being seen, and no doubt debauched, in front of a room full of strangers.
Slave One had been very lucky. Her captors had treated her well. Lucky indeed, all except for one thing. Her captors had not permitted her to cum. Some women can go for a long time without having an orgasm, of course. Many may not even think twice about it, but this was not the case for Slave One. She had been subjected to a totally different regime.
Each day, once, twice, sometimes even more, Mistress Sheba would reach down into her sex and finger her just enough to get her aroused. The situation would always be the same. One would become turned on against her will, but, in time, she would want to need to cum. And that is when Sheba would stop up short, leaving her “high and dry.” The routine was maddening. It became almost a torture, terrible in its own right. Poor Slave One could do nothing. They kept her bound 24/7 in such a way that she could never touch herself.
Slave One was certainly not a lesbian. Truth be known, she was repulsed at the thought. But when the opportunity presented itself, she could not help but bring herself off over the waiting mouth of Slave Three who had been strapped into Sheba’s Saddle. That was her singular opportunity and she made the best of it. Denied the way she was, however, one orgasm had had only added to her frustration and whetted her appetite for more.
Standing behind the curtain, Slave One looked absolutely fetching as she stood dressed in the sheerest black teddy/nightie which flared out over her lovely breasts and narrow waist. The bottom hem stopped just short of her hips, however, leaving her shaved sex completely exposed. Matching black thigh high stockings, held up with garters completed the picture, allowing the color of her flesh, especially her own sex, to stand out in sharp contrast to the surrounding sheer black. Her keepers had seen to the look. It was a careful coupling of old fashioned Hollywood glamor and blatant porn.
She could have been a centerfold for a man’s magazine, a pinup taped up inside some mechanic’s tool box, but she was a very real girl and so were her struggles. They had cuffed her wrists behind her back and cinched them up high above her ass to a delicate leather choker collar which pulled her head back hard. A bright red ball gag had been strapped into her mouth as well. Her ankles had been cuffed together too, allowing her to struggle but stand in place.
Slave One had been perched on top of a pair of the highest of heels. They shifted her body weight uncomfortably onto her toes. She was a sight a sight to behold, an altogether artfully composed combination of bondage and beauty. One flexed and shifted her lovely legs to maintain her balance and keep her toes from turning numb. The small movements, the shifting and the jiggling made her look coy and even more fetching.
She could have have stepped out of those awful heels but she dared not. The “Fuck Stick” had seen to that. It was a floor mounted, chrome plated steel pipe which extended up some three feet from the floor. The polished tip had been been thrust deep into her vagina. Slave One could move a little. She could twist and turn, even bend at the waist, but she could not extricate herself from the Fuck Stick. The net result had already begun to take its tole. The stick had turned her on. Her cunt juices had begun to flow and run down along the pole in rivulets. The smell of her own arousal filled the air, adding to her own humiliation.
Slave One had one singular defensive strategy. She could stand still on the pole and not move, but Mistress Sheba had seen to that. She stood right beside her, gently fondled her nipples, and kissed her on the mouth. Every so often Sheba would reach down and finger One’s clitoris until One would twist and even wrench her body against the Fuck Stick, hoping for release.
The trouble was that the chrome provided some stimulation, but just not enough. It may have penetrated her deeply, but the tip was too highly polished to create enough meaningful friction. One moaned into her ball gag as she began to enter the final throes of her arousal. And that was when Sheba stopped. This time she grabbed her own crotch, rimming herself, and fingering her clit.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the MC. “Tonight for your viewing pleasure, we present the one and the only Slave One!”
A drum roll played. The curtain flew out. The room burst into applause. And there, trapped in a white hot spot light stood stood Slave One for all the world to see. Slave One closed her eyes in shame, cringing at the thought of hundred pairs of eyes, all riveted upon her, staring at her terribly exposed sex, and the cruelly positioned Fuck Stick.
“No one cums like the great Slave One,” said the voice. “And we have saved her up and kept her from cumming for such a very long time.”
Laughs and jeers filled the room. This was a sophisticated audience. They all knew the effects of orgasm denial. Many, in fact, were slave owners themselves. They had, no doubt, played the same trick on their own girls, just to make them more ready for their own ultimate sexual degradation. The audience reactions died down just a bit, but did not stop. People were, no doubt, commenting to each other about the Fuck Stick. A few of them even laughed. Instinctively Slave One pressed her lovely legs together tight, a mindless attempt at shielding her plight from all those eyes.
The room itself had never been meant to be a theater. This was the basement of an older building. The center consisted of an ad hoc thrust stage. The audience sat on three sides in order that everyone was afforded the luxury of an unobstructed view. The surrounding walls were poured concrete, but the back of the stage had been draped off with a series of red velour curtains. It was an incongruous space, an odd combination of glitz and grunge.
Sheba was totally dressed for her part in leather boots, bustier, and even gloves. She looked absolutely perfect as a dominatrix. She stepped behind her slave and gently caressed her shoulders, gently kissed her cheek. It was a cleverly composed tableau: the irony of shameless bondage, vanilla sex, and a struggling girl. The music faded up as she slowly made love to her charge. The song was Leather and Lace. The spotlight switched to a special moonlight blue as the first line was sung, “Is love so fragile?”
A hush fell over the room as Sheba continued to kiss, her hands gently encircled One’s waist, caressing her torso ever so slowly before working up to the breasts. Sheba did not grab, nor squeeze. She simply cupped the lower halves with half open hands in a lover’s embrace. Then, ever so delicately, she lifted those beautiful breasts just a little.
“Yeah!” someone in the audience said, almost in reverence. A few people applauded, but not loud enough to break the magic of the moment.
The song played on: You in the moonlight…With your sleepy eyes…Could you ever love a man like me?
A few titters broke out. Sheba was very masculine, but certainly not a man. She reached for a little drawstring that had been tied at the top of Slave One’s sheer teddy, and she slowly pulled it until the bow collapsed and the teddy dropped to the floor.
“Give to me your leather. Take from me your lace…”
The audience applauded politely. Breasts now fully exposed, Slave One had become transformed, a perfect vision of loveliness, a dream come true for any man or woman who loved the female form.
And then, right on cue, the music changed. The lights came up full bright and Sheba began to dance. It was a wanton and obscene, almost like a strip tease show. Two dancers dressed like chorus girls entered from the wings. They were topless, dressed in rhinestone thong panties, rhinestone wigs, and rhinestone stilettos. Altogether, it was an odd mix of characters and costumes but they pulled it off. The audience applauded in approval as Sheba held up her hand. A riding crop thrown out from the wings. She caught it and dance until the music faded down. The two dancers picked up a pair of tambourines and struck poses to either side of the still stationary slave girl.
“Let’s see if we can get Slave One off,” said Sheba as she swung the whip back and forth.
“I need a little help from the audience please,” she said. “Please clap along with me: 1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3-4!”
On the stroke of four, she swung the crop, striking Slave One directly across the thighs. The audience roared in approval. Sheba turned to the audience and laughed. Then she cupped her hand to her ear.
The audience responded right away, as the dancers tapped out the cadence on their tambourines: 1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3-4! The whip cracked again on the girl’s thighs.
“Again,” She shouted.
1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3-4, the whip fell on the thighs again and again. The cadence increased. Slave One began to twist to and fro moaning with each blow as her sex frictioned itself on the Fuck Stick, the inner walls of her vagina stimulated, but not gaining the precious purchase needed to bring her off.
Sheba stopped and held up her hands, motioning silence. Slave One’s had begun to tremble. Her thighs had turned fire engine red. The Fuck stick had turned wet with her juices but still she could not cum. Sheba looked at the stick and mopped it up with her gloved hand. She wiped it on her slave’s face. Laughter ensued.
Sheba didn’t even break a smile. She cracked the whip again, this time across the girls breasts. They bounced and rocked in protest. One let out a gasp. Sheba swung again and again. The poor girl twisted and jerked with each stroke, desperately trying to maintain her balance in between the blows. She was in a world of pain, but no one really cared. They just wanted to see her destroyed and defiled.
“Such a good little girl,” said Sheba as the whipping came to an end.
She stepped back around behind the still panting and tortured slave, fondling and kissing as tenderly as before. This time, however, she reached down and began to massage One’s clitoris. Still aroused, One drew in a sharp breath and then moaned as she renewed her journey to orgasm, this time even more desperate than before. Sheba removed the gag and grabbed the girl’s hair with her free hand, forcing her head up and turning it slowly from one side to the other.
“Tell everybody the rules,” Sheba said.
“Cum or suffer,” Slave One said. She dared not say more.
“Tonight is your lucky night,” Sheba replied. “You get to cum.”
The poor girl shuddered. She had already been stripped, whipped, and penetrated by the Fuck Stick. Now she would be forced to cum under stage lights in front of all those people.
But Sheba stopped Slave One up short once again. This time, however, she clamped a very large vibrator to the Fuck Stick and turned it up on full. The vibrations traveled up the stick and into Slave One’s vagina.
“Oh,” Slave One gasped. The machine was doing its job.
The sound of a drum came over the loudspeakers: Boom chakka chakka boom chakka boom. Slave One lifted her body up on the stick, then dropped it down, and continued on, masturbating almost in time to the drum beat. She knew all too well that everyone was watching, but she could not help herself. She picked up the tempo as the sound of a drum roll cross faded in.
“Open your eyes,” ordered Sheba as she forced One to face the audience.
One’s eyes had clouded over and rolled up inside her head. Her body began to convulse.
“Let’s give the girl a big hand, everyone,” said Sheba, playing for the crowd.
People cheered wildly. The applause was overwhelming. Slave One had brought down the house.
“And now for the auction,” said the MC.
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