Last week I introduced Sir Jaerl’s as a guest writer for my blog.
You can read more about Sir Jaerls on ‘his’ page.
This is the second and last part of his short story called ‘Chattle’.
Continued from… Chattle (1/2)
“Nooooo,” she moaned, “please noooo,” she felt her face glow with a deep blush that spread down her neck and over her round breasts. Her legs danced against the block trying to keep him out, but the man was practiced at showing off his wares and she knew she had already lost the battle.
He was going to make her cum in front of the crowd like a slut and there was nothing she could do about it.
She continued to beg, to plead, not to be used so publicly, to be granted that much at least but her body betrayed her and her hips began to rub against his hand. Her begging for dignity was soon abandoned for pleas of release. The auctioneer was maddening, he brought her to the edge and let her fall off and brought her back again,
She writhed and squirmed, pulling against her bonds, all thoughts of the crowd forgotten and swept aside. His hand in her sex, parting her folds and touching the clit, the hood… every part of her with infuriating expertise. Her mind shut off, the world became sensations of her overloaded pussy, and the voices that kept calling out meaningless numbers no more than a distant wave cascading against a long forgotten beach.
She jumped up and down to get the fingers inside her, to speed the orgasm, to find the release her body needed
She thrashed against the ropes, her head back pleading, begging to cum. At his urging she called herself every word he demanded from her, slut, whore, cunt, tramp, anything anything to bust over the top of the wave and cum.
Through her own screams, she heard her tormentor calling out, “She is your property, Sir, do I let her cum for all these people?”
“YES, YES, YES,” the crowd began to chant. It rose like the wave of orgasm in her and filled the square. “YES, YES, YES.”
She knew she had been sold, that her new Master waited to take her for whatever purpose he bought her, but the need was so strong, the release so elusive she no longer cared. It was the chanting of the crowd that caught her attention, some part of her mind that understood if they had their way she could end the torment and CUM.
“YES, YES, YES!” she screamed, throat red and raw from the effort and begging and the gasps of air. Tears streamed down her face as her head was back against her neck facing the blazing summer sun. Her feet were rigid on the platform, her arms tight against her bonds, her back arched and her hips shoved forward to the chanting crowd.
“YES, YES, YES!” they urged her new Master while the maddening fingers played her like a puppet.
She could not see, could not hear, but her new owner must have capitulated to the crowd.
Her tormentor stopped his teasing for an agonizing moment, making her sob uncontrollably in frustration. A sharp pain on her clitoris surprised her but the agony of his grasp flew through her body, igniting every nerve and the glorious wave of ecstasy covered her from head to toe.
She froze, her body in shock. She went rigid and stopped breathing when the enormity of the orgasm hit her: fear of her own intensity and the realization that this orgasm was about burst from her and there was no way to stop it. The blinding light tore through her clenched eyelids and lit the back of her brain. The light settled there and expanded in a blazing ball of fire.
The orgasms tore her soul free of the restrictions of the flesh, part of her saw her own body slamming against thin air. Her tormentor, having done his work, had released his grasp. Her hips slammed back and forth, her gaping sex suckled against nothingness as if trying to capture the cock it craved but never had.
Her head thrashed back and forth, the very ropes that held her creaked and moaned under the pressure and the crowd simply stood in shock and awe as the petite girl seemed to shatter in front of them.
The orgasm wasn’t stopping. With the skill of a consummate Master, the auctioneer pinched her, stroked her, touched her lightly or slapped her sharply and the wave would begin anew.
Her sex fired back, soaking the stage at her feet, a stream of agonized glory blowing free of her pussy. Her eyes rolled up into her head and she gave herself to the endless stream of sex.
By the time she passed out, the crowd had tripled and the free citizens stood in silenced awe for a young slave girl.
She was taken down, half conscious and carried to her new Master’s feet. She was laid out beside him in the hot sands, naked flesh still twitching and spasming in the orgasm’s spell.
She could see a man’s sandals, but little else, her brain was too busy to worry about something as inconsequential as her life. The sands eagerly drank the spittle she was unable to control and rasped against her skin like a file.
As the waves began to subside, sound came to her first. The crowd was intent upon another girl. That one was not made to perform as she had been and the noise of the auctions flowed around her. She saw some stealing glimpses of her and then look enviously at her new Master.
The newly sold slave dared to look up. It was not the sweaty man, nor the cruel looking youth. His countenance was nondescript, but he stood as though he owned the city and all the people in it. Military perhaps, or wealth, but somehow, the straight shoulders and level eyes frightened and reassured her all at once.
She was his slave. He could kill her on a whim. She was his slave. From the look of him, and the stolen glances from the crowd, no one else could ever touch her again.
She dared to move a little and kiss the foot of the man who would decide her fate. Naked, spent, all pride and self left on the block in a tidal wave of release, she reached for her Master.
He looked down at her for a moment, expressionless eyes, evaluating her. There was a hint of a smile on his face as he looked up again.
It was enough.
© Sir Jaerls