Chapter 11: The Girl Who Sold Herself - Chapter Eleven
Downstairs, one step at a time, my footsteps and theirs, echoing...
There is a murmur of voices ahead, several voices, but muffled, and the smell of good cigars and
something alcoholic. Brandy?
Against all reason, my panties are bing moist.
For a moment, the arm supporting me to the left releases me. There is the sound of another heavy,
creaking, door, and abruptly, the sound of voices grows much louder.
We stand, I think, framed in the doorway, the three of us, Michael to one side of me, my Master to the
other, me blindly between them.
After a moment, the hubbub of voices falls silent and then a deep earthy voice says, “Good evening,
James. Good evening, Michael.” There is a footstep or two, and then my hand is taken, raised and
kissed. “And good evening, Charlotte. Thank you foring. You look beautiful.”
The voice and the kiss, are apanied by the waft of expensive aftershave and a rich, deeply
masculine scent. My panties are bing really, quite ufortably, wet, and there is a flush rising
from my breasts, over my chest and neck to my face. I am beginning to pant.
The voice continues. “Would you like something to help you rx Charlotte? Cognac perhaps?
Although we probably have anything else you are likely to ask for.”
My voice emerges as a squeak. “Cognac would be lovely. Thank you.”
“Of course. Michael, James, take thedy to a chair. Let her befortable for a few minutes, while we
gather everyone together.”
Everyone?
Again, arms take mine, but I can tell that it is not now Michael, nor my Master. Something in the rhythm
of the walk, the scent of musk and aroused masculinity, is not theirs. My two strangepanions lead
me, then gently guide me to sit. A ss is eased into my hands.
The brandy is aromatic and heady. I bury my nose in the ss, inhaling before I drink, sipping at first,
then gulping down a couple of mouthfuls. Arousal and fear fight for first ce within me and my pulse is
racing, my heart pounding. Around me I can hear footsteps, stepping lightly, but all around me, and
soft, almost whispered,ments on the edge of my hearing. About me.
I tip my head back to drain the ss, closing my eyes behind the blindfold.
The cognac works its magic, and my nerves dissolve, leaving only electric arousal in its ce.
Oh God! I want to be fucked.
I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.
Michael’s voice whispers by my ear. “It’s time, Charlotte,” and he takes me by an elbow, raising me
from the chair.
Another hand takes my other arm. It is my Master I know. The two lead me some distance, and the
echoes change quality. Then Michael, I know it is him, I can scent him, takes both my hands and clips
Belonging ? N?velDram/a.Org.
cuffs around my wrists.
They don’t feel like the usual cuffs that Michael and my Master use: wider by some inches, snuggling
my wrists and lower arms, encasing me, and linked together. They smell pleasantly of leather, creaking
with my movement.
Michael moves me a little, positioning where I stand, then raises my arms. Something snaps into ce
above me, then pulls, tensioning my arms so that I am, not quite teetering, but certainly unable to move
from my spot.
Strange hands cuff my ankles, then ease my legs apart. I stagger a little but am supported at the wrists.
My ankles are parted further, the cuffs pulling me into position. As my thighs part, my pussy lips are
swelling and curling open, and I feel hot wetness escaping my folds.
A male body slides up my legs and torso, pressing against me. He smells delicious but unfamiliar. He
kisses me, forcing my mouth open, roughly, tongue deep and briefly, very briefly, slips his hand
between the folds of my wrap-around skirt and down between my thighs, feeling between.
His voice is an announcement. “Oh yes, Gentlemen. She’s wet already.”
The hand and the body withdraw, leaving me stranded, blind, suspended.
There are footsteps and then a voice.
“Now then gentlemen. You know the rules. Aces high or low. The pot goes to thedy. The winner of
each hand has ten minutes of the next…event…with her.”
They’re ying cards for me?
I hear soft noises: swishing, a soft pping noise. Cards being dealt?
There is the rattle of small objects on a wooden surface. (Chips going down?)
And voices:
“Deal.”
“Deal.”
“One more.”
“Fold.”
And the sound of cards flicking down on a table.
How can I hear this? Such a quiet sound. The echoes of the chamber?
“Seventeen.”
“Deal.”
p.
“Deal.”
“Deal.”
“Twenty-one!”
I never y cards, but even I know that twenty-one is a winner.
And now?
There is silence, interrupted by the scrape of a chair, several chairs, and footsteps,ing towards
me.
“Hi.” I am a bit wobbly, but feel I should acknowledge my…guest?
A finger presses against my lips. I can’t speak?
Or he can’t speak? It’s against the rules?
A body moves, and clothes rustle, close to me.
Hands run over my clothes, t against my stomach, around my waist, up and around my shoulders.
Blindly, my lips open, and I start to pant, my breathing growing faster by the moment.
The hands slide over my breasts, caressing, squeezing, massaging, then upwards over my neck and
face. Fingers slip into my hair, finding pins andbs, removing each by turn, and releasing my red
tresses to tumble down around my breasts and back. Hands brush my hair back behind me, over my
shoulders, keeping my front exposed.
The fingers quest to the back of the halter-neck, struggling a little with the knot before releasing it and
the straps fall loose. I feel them pping free by my still-clothed breasts as a mouth fastens on to mine.
And now, my breasts are grasped, hard, pinching at the nipples through fabric.
“The pot goes to the Lady.”
How much am I going to earn from this?
More if they have a good time with me…
The mouth, kissing hard, pushes at me, tongue pushing inwards. I meet it. Opening to wee this
stranger. Blindfolded I might be, but he smells clean, wholesome, fuckable.
“Touch me,” I say. “I get it. You can’t speak. But I can. Touch me. Suck my tits. I want to be fucked.”
There is a sharp intake of breath, and I feel, lower down, the growing hardness of an erection pressing
against me. The fingers are unbuttoning my top, releasing my breasts. In my mind, I imagine myself, in
my little ck wrap-around skirt - so easy to remove – bare-breasted, with the red silk blindfold,
straddle-legged in the cuffs and arms stretched upwards, bound at the wrists.
My pussy is flowing. I must look red hot to them. Who is going to fuck me? How many are going to fuck
me?
The halter-neck top falls free, and I am naked from the waist upwards. Lips fasten onto a breast, softly
sucking, rolling a nipple between teeth and lips. A hand kneads at the other breast. Pleasure pulses
through my veins and I moan, leaning into the caress.
Hot breath sweeps over my skin and the erection pressing against my leg hardens.
“Hot damn,” says a voice close by.
Is it him? Or is there an audience gathered around?
“Time!” shouts a voice, and there is a general murmuring and shuffling of feet. Many footsteps retreat
and I hear chairs scraping again, followed by the faint swish of cards being dealt and the rattling sound
again.
“Deal.”
“Damn.” The p of cards on table, the clink of chips being moved.
Another voice. “Deal.”
“Deal.”
And the thump of a hand on table-top. “Fold.”
Yet another voice. “Deal.”
“Deal.”
“Deal.”
“Twenty-one!”
This time, the immediate sound of chairs moving, followed by many footsteps.
Straddled and bound, blindfolded and half-naked, I feel powerful and alive. My sopping panties are truly
ufortable, and I cannot wait for them to be removed.
Another body approaches me,es in close immediately, seizing me by the waist, pulling me in,
making me gasp and arch my back in response.
Lips and teeth mp onto a nipple. A hand seizes the other nipple. The spare hand slips south and
inside the wrap-skirt.
The teeth are gently nibbling my already crinkle-hard nipples, alternating between left and right, and I
gasp and pant. Surely my heartbeat can be heard around the room.
The hand inside the skirt fingers its way down inside my panties, exploring, seeking. There is a
“Mmmff” of satisfaction as my wet and swollen condition is discovered, and the hand withdraws to
fumble for the buttons of the wrap-around.
Something about the buttons foils the fingers, and after a few seconds of impatient groping at the
fastenings, the hand loses patience and simply tugs, ripping the skirt from me, leaving me only in
panties and stockings…