Shamed (11 page)

Nera
looked to the woman with pleading eyes calling
upon the woman’s sensibilities, her womanhood, to spare her from this
humiliation. The woman returned the stare but it was without passion, her eyes
keeping contact with
Nera’s
as she spoke again to the
man.

 “I have
three
sons.” She said.

“Of course and she may pleasure three.” The slave trader assured her.

Nera
stared in bewilderment as the man and
woman began to debate.

“If you know this then perhaps she is soiled?” the woman said.

“No, no. See for yourself, she is a virgin pure and true.”

“I shall.”
Said the woman.
Nera
was lost. Comprehension had deserted her. How could a woman pleasure three men
at once? The old woman loosened the rope and freed
Nera
for a moment. She turned her so that
Nera's
back was
to the crowd then bent her forward and tied her into that position against the
wooden rail. 
Nera
was puzzled. Now she was bent
double her bottom facing the crowd. The man kicked at her ankles forcing her
legs apart and
Nera
was suddenly conscious again how
much was on show to the faces below. It was a frightful position and she could
feel by the movement of air over her body just how exposed she was. Her breasts
swung freely below her and she became aware of how this made her nipples throb,
which in turn started the throbbing of her clitoris once again. How could her
body betray her so?

She was brought suddenly back from her thoughts by the man’s rough
hands grasping her buttocks. He spread her wide apart lifting and parting her
buttocks. Was this further humiliation necessary? Could they not already see
everything she had?

“She looks unused,” the woman said. “But my three sons may be too
much.”

“No, not at all.” the man insisted, a hint of desperation in his voice.
“Watch woman!”

He again pushed two fingers into
Nera’s
open
cunt and she was surprised at how easily he gained entry, her own juices, still
flowing smoothing the way.

 “And now!” he announced as if about to perform a trick of magic
in a show.
Nera
squealed aloud, drawing a rousing
laughter from the crowd as the man now pushed a stubby hard thumb against her
anus. She tensed to repel him, gasped as the tension caused her inner muscles
to grip tightly around the fingers within her and in an effort to reverse this
unwanted reaction she could only relax those muscles. Taking advantage of this
momentary confusion the tip of his thumb pressed harder and with a smarting
pain he was into her. Her muscles tensed, then contracted, she was unable to
expel his abominable intrusion into her person nor control the counter actions
of her body and then all of a sudden she felt a wave of intense pleasure
explode from within her womb, surging, sweeping through her, she bucked her
hips impulsively driving the fingers deeper into herself which triggered
another surge of ecstasy and sending pulses from her clitoris which exploded
star like within her head. She cried out, aloud, a deep guttural cry from
somewhere inside her and an amused raucous cheer rose from the crowd. But
something else had happened to her. Her
humiliation, her
loathing of her situation, were
swept away there and then.

“250? It is a fair price” said the woman.

Nera
was untied from the rail and the old hag
placed a rope collar around her neck. Then she handed it to the woman. In
return she exchanged a bag of coins with the slave
trader
and lead
Nera
away from the platform, down the steps
into the crowd and through to a waiting horse. Several of the people in the
crowd took the opportunity to touch
Nera’s
naked body
as she passed them. Hands groped at her breasts, slapped her buttocks while the
woman seemed oblivious to
Nera’s
twisting movements
and forlorn cries.  Free of the crowd the woman mounted a horse and walked
it forward, leading
Nera
on the end of the rope. She
was naked yet no longer cared about the people looking at her as she was walked
slowly through town toward a large villa.  She was wet between her legs,
her nipples were erect and she had peculiar feeling in her anus. She loved the
feeling.

As they approached the gate to the villa three young men came out to
greet them. They looked
Nera
up and down with hungry
eyes. She tossed back her head and thrust out her breasts proudly, feeling her
clitoris tingle between her legs.

“Look what mummy picked up in the market for you boys” the woman
crowed.  

The
Starcatcher
Club was practically empty.
It was nearly eight and although the patronage could never be classed as
regular (that was part of the appeal of the place, no familiar faces to run
into) she had expected a far better show of talent than that which was on
display tonight.  Situated as it was in a back street in one of the
seedier parts of town it was more likely frequented by the cities waifs and
strays than by any sort of clientele. The
Starcatcher
was a “drop in” kind of place.  No one stayed long and few revisited. It
was ideal hunting ground for her.

She sat in the high stool with her back to the bar and sipped at a
vodka martini. A guy in a chequered hat stood poised over the juke box, money
in hand, scouring the play list for something familiar. He wasn’t having much
luck judging by the frown on his weathered face.

In the corner, sat at a round table, were two guys who looked bored out
of their minds. They cast occasional glimpses at her but she wasn’t interested.
They weren’t the sort of action she was looking for tonight.

She decided to hang on. Chances were that sometime this evening someone
would turn up, looking for directions or a quick beer before he made his way
into the city or home to his wife or whatever. She didn’t much care.

It wasn’t the sort of place a woman like her would be expected to
frequent. It was rare to see a woman here, most of the girls would be in the
city tonight at one of the top nightclubs, looking to pull a guy with money, a
car, a sense of adventure. That did nothing for her. She wasn’t out to grab
herself a husband. She wanted cock. Good, hard, no strings attached, fucking.
She could confidently say that she could have the pick of any of the guys at
the office. She had good friends, some would be considered a top catch, but
none of that had fed her hunger. It used to worry her, how she felt, that
animal hunger that took overtook all commonsense thought and drove her to
scouring any and all the secluded clubs looking for that off the cuff hit.

The guys never complained. Building workers, sailors, pump attendants,
postal workers. The high flyers held no appeal to her. She grew up with money.
Dashing good looks and high flying whiz kids were the norm for her. Most of her
friends knew who they were going to marry before they had left kindergarten.

She wanted something else. There was nothing better than not knowing.
It turned her on, put fire in her belly. Never knowing who the lucky guy was
gonna
be until he walked into the joint. Hell, even she
didn’t know it and better still if he wasn’t even looking for it. It was a
power thing too. She had outright veto. It was her choice. But was it a choice?
It was a game she played with herself. It sated a need that she could neither
explain nor comprehend. She liked to feel dirty. She liked to take that step
away from everything around her; the money, the smart apartment, the powerful
job. Afterwards she would wake up the next day and scold herself, emotionally
beat herself up, tell herself she was crazy.
Why would you do that to
yourself? Why would you put yourself in that position? Wake up the next day,
maybe a little sore, feeling like a tramp.
A common slut.
Knowing that you had let some wretch of a guy (or guys) maul you, touch you up,
fuck you.
She felt sick afterwards, but only afterwards. It would build for
days before hand. Like some growing desire somewhere down below that would
increase hour by hour rising in her, taking over her thoughts, her dreams. She
would be a rock at work.
Hard headed, confident, in control.
But when she stopped for just a second she could feel the desire burning in
her, calling to her.

She lit a cigarette and ordered another vodka martini. The alcohol was
warming her body nicely but she was becoming impatient. How many was that?
Three drinks so far. Maybe she should go look elsewhere. She was on a high
tonight. Her body was talking to her, no, screaming at her! It was desperate to
get fucked. It was impossible to control
herself
in
one of these moods.  When she had left home it was with a spring in her
step and before she had got the car to the end of the drive could feel that
familiar wetness of anticipation.

The guy at the juke box had given up and cleared out. The two guys in
the corner pulled on their coats and strolled out giving her the customary eye
as they passed. “Not a chance sonny” she spoke into her glass.

By nine thirty she was on the verge of giving up. Her head was getting
muggy from the drink and bar one earlier possibility (until his wife came in
and hauled him off home) there didn’t seem to be much hope of any action. Sat
alone, she slugged back the last of her drink and decided to leave.

Just then six guys came in from the street. They jostled for the bar
and ordered their beers while they took turns to eye her. She loved that part.
Perched on the stool she felt a bit like a prostitute. She pretended not to see
them but made a play of crossing her legs for their benefit.

“Hey bartender, you got a pool or snooker table or anything here?” one
asked.

“Sure, snooker” The bartender answered. “Go through the door at the
back. Left for the toilets, right for the snooker room” The guys snatched up
their beers and noisily disappeared through the door at the back of the room.

She felt a gentle purring start up in her groin. A couple of the guys
had looked ok and this may be the only chance of the evening. She waited a few
moments, finished her cigarette and headed for the toilet. As she went through
the door she could hear the loud conversation of the guys. She discretely
looked through the window of the snooker room door. They were playing some sort
of game where each was taking a turn. She knew little about playing snooker but
it didn’t look to be the correct way to play.

In the ladies she took a few minutes to spruce herself up. Touching up
her deep red lipstick and brushing her dark brown shoulder length locks. She
knew she was attractive and her figure was good but going over the top was part
of the game. She undid an extra button on her blouse which was already low and
slipped off her knickers. Stuffing them into her bag, she took a last look in
the mirror feeling her heart rate increase as she did so.

“Hannah Christian, you are a disgrace!” she exclaimed to the
reflection. “You are a wanton whore!” then after a brief pause she winked at
herself “Perfect!”

The fun of the chase had her wet already and she could feel the
dampness between her thighs. She crossed the corridor and took another look
through the glass pain of the door. Just as she rose onto her tiptoes two guys
burst through the door with arms full of empty glasses heading back to the bar
for refills.

“Hello Honey!” a tall guy with an Elvis quiff said stopping in his
tracks.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” she apologised making way for him.

The guys in the room spotted her and jeered. “Why don’t we invite the
lady in Dean?” one of them called. The guy with the quiff kicked the door open
wide “You
wanna
join us?”

“Umm....OK” Hannah played it as innocently as she could.

She entered the room, every pair of eyes following her every step.
Like
a piece of meat
she thought to herself. The words “lamb” and “wolf’s lair”
sprang into her mind and her heart started to pound.

A big guy in a green shirt pulled up a stool for her and she gratefully
took her place on it. She knew how she looked sat there in her short skirt, all
thighs and calves and she knew it would be a struggle to sit comfortably in a
way that hid her lack of underwear. It was a good job that wasn’t high on her
priorities. The one called Dean returned with his buddy and a tray full of beer
glasses. They all grabbed at their drinks and called for the game to resume.

“We’re playing knock out snooker” Dean told her, trying to make
himself
heard above the noise. “We take turns to play, when
you miss potting the ball you are out. Once you are out you have to buy a
round. “I was out first!” he gave a resigned shrug.

“And what does the winner get?” she asked

“Oh, we all put in $10. So he wins the $60 prize”

“Not much of an incentive.” She observed.

“It makes a game of it.”

“Wouldn’t it be better with a more substantial prize?” Hannah asked.
Dean looked at her with a puzzled expression.

“Maybe if I was the prize it would be more fun.” She offered up loudly
so everyone in the room could hear.

A buzz of excited whispers flowed around the room, a raise of her
eyebrows put the message across that she was serious. It was followed by roars
of “Come on then! Let’s play.” She watched them for a few moments, sizing up
the guys. She was
gonna
get to fuck one of them.
Which one? She loved this part of the game too. Which one of these guys was
gonna
fuck her? Which one was
gonna
get to ram his hard dick into her and make her come?

She didn’t want to have to choose, any one of them would do. Watching them
from her perch she sized up their looks and got a good view of their rumps as
they leaned across the table to take a shot. The game introduced a new angle
for her. No choosing. No deciding which guy had the best chat up line or
offered the most physically. The winner of the game would fuck her.
Plain and simple.
Then a wicked thought crossed her mind.
Why just one? Why not two or three? She was up for it. Her soaking pussy was
testament to that. Maybe it was the drink but tonight she fancied a real rough
and tumble.