WAYWARD BRATS (2 page)

“What in heaven’s name is going on here?” Matron Smith stormed into the room and hauled Jason off the bed by his ear. “You wicked, deceitful, wanton whore!”

The spit and words were directed at me.

“Ariana Trout!” She hauled me off the bed next and pulled my nighty down with several quick, sharp tugs. “I will deal with the two of you later.” She glared at Sarah and Jason until they left the room.

“Your mother is a very special friend of mine –”

“
Step
mother,” I corrected her.

She straightened her skirt.

“Ariana, how many girls are under this roof?”

I shrugged.

The lecture was always the worst part of being punished.

“72.” Matron Smith sat on the bed and took out her phone. “Yes, Father Marcus,” she said after a few moments.

“72 wayward brats,” she said to me while she waited. “Don’t think for a moment I’m not – Hello, Father. I am fine, thank you, Marcus. Yes, I do need your assistance with one of the new girls. This afternoon is perfect. Goodbye.”

“You will remain here the rest of the day. Father Marcus will collect you at 3 pm. The road will be cleared by then.” She went to the door.

I didn’t give her the satisfaction of asking where I was being taken or who Father Marcus was.

She sniffed and flounced out the room.

* * *

Father Marcus was cool, he gave me a sip of his whiskey flask and let me choose the radio station.

“Am I being taken home?” I asked as we turned onto the freeway.

“Do you want to go home?” he asked me.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

I didn’t know.

“I’m taking you to the city. You’ll be able to discover who you really are.”

For all the air of experience I wore, I’d never been to the city before. I couldn’t feign disinterest as neon signs flashed and lightbulbs whizzed around billboards, selling me everything from cars to motel rooms and places to eat.

Stopped at a red light a woman in a scandalously short skirt and dangerously high boots rapped on Father Marcus' window and whined for him to open it.

“Do you know her?” I asked.

“Him.” Father Marcus coughed a laughed and shifted into gear when the light went green, “Not that I remember.”

Not long after, we pulled up beside Sal's Saloon; a shabby three-story building with a half-burnt out welcome sign.

“We're getting out here?”

Father Marcus came around to my side and helped me out.

I hid behind him as we climbed the stairs and he knocked on the black metal and graffiti rectangle that served as a door.

After a minute, an enormous black man appeared.

“Bonjour, Arnold. I have a new girl for Sal.”

His face remained a blank slate, he didn’t speak when Father Marcus handed him a square of folded paper. Simply stepped aside.

Looking up, I watched Father Marcus pull me down the hall via the mirrored ceiling.

“What is this place?” I huddled as close to Father Marcus as possible as he pulled me into a crowded room plastered with huge No Smoking signs.

The air was the only clean thing in the place.

On a couch in the corner lay two women pleasuring themselves with champagne bottles. Two men in leather leashes and spiked collars sucked the cocks of two men in white robes and turbans.

Directly in front of us, in the middle of a crowded dancefloor, three women tied to wooden crosses writhed in ecstasy as they were pleasured by an assortment of objects.

That it didn’t offend Marcus’ priestly sensibilities was clear when he slapped one of the girls on the thigh and asked her if her ropes were tight enough.

“Don’t stare, Ariana,” he cautioned me as he maneuvered us between the women and dancers. “You don’t want to draw attention to yourself too soon and ruin the surprise.”

“What surprise?” I whispered. My normal cocky bravado had turned into a lump in my throat.

I didn’t know if I clung to him or if he held me, so tightly was I tucked against him. We waited for a fat belly dancer to swallow her sword and move out the way. “Father, why would you bring me here? Why would
you
come here?”

“Ariana, I want you to meet Sal. He will be seeing to your treatment from now on. You are to obey him, do you understand?”

Father Marcus peeled me from him and shoved me into the arms of a gold-toothed pirate.

“Enchanté,” Sal said kissing my hand like a gentleman.

“I don't speak French,” I shouted. The floor vibrated with the constant onslaught of music. I wanted my hand back, but Sal tightened his grip.

I glanced over at Father Marcus for reassurance but he wasn't behind me anymore. I searched the crowd for his blonde head above the rest and his long black robe. Maybe he was getting us a drink? Or talking to another friend.

“He's gone.” Sal waved to the DJ and ran his finger across his throat. The music screeched into silence. Conversations petered out. “Don’t worry. You are mine now.”

I couldn’t believe Father Marcus had left me!

“Ladies and fellas!” Sal dragged me up onto the stage with him. “Our beloved Charlotte Stone has sent us a new toy.”

The crowd cheered. Some raised their glasses at me, others exposed their breasts or grabbed their crotches. A far cry from the drab and tame once-were wayward girls I had grown accustomed to.

It was a little hardcore, but better than being stuck at Charlotte Stone’s
Prison
for Wayward Girls.

The lights, the action.

If only there were cameras to complete the dream.

I was confused. Was this Matron Smith’s intended punishment or had Father Marcus gone rogue and taken me here as a reward?

“Test her!” One, then more voices took up the cry. “Test her! Test her!”

I had always wanted to stand on a stage in front of a crowd, their intense proximity set my teeth on edge and my hair on end.

“Do you want to give them what they want, Little Brat?” Sal whispered to me. “Give them a show they won’t soon forget.”

I swallowed.

Was I to be the entertainment? But how?

I nodded my consent, expecting a magician to force me into a box or something.

Instead, Sal shoved his fingers under the collar of my dress and ripped it from neck to waist, pulling my bra down with the same skilled attack.

“What are you doing?” I covered my nakedness with my arms as best I could, but Sal grabbed me by the wrists and forced them behind my back. It took only one of his to imprison both of mine.

“You’re perky alright.” He fondled each breast with his spare hand, squeezing them both one after the other with his rough and calloused palm. “A little more than a handful. Wouldn’t call it a waste, though!” This last he shouted over his shoulder at the crowd. “Would we?”

Waving over a waiter Sal grabbed an ice cube from a glass of whiskey and pressed it against my nipple. He waited for first one, then the other, to pucker from the cold.

I moaned in delight, my pussy tingled in desire. My world reduced to the size of the ice against my nipple.

“She’s a Submissive, alright. I’d bet my whore of a mother’s tits on it.” He popped the remaining ice into his mouth and crunched it. “You reckon we should still test her. Right, Fellas. To be sure?”

His voice was unnaturally loud – magnified by a hidden mic – cutting across the whoops and yips of the baying crowd.

Sal was a showman. He revved the crowd up and the more he did, the closer they got. Ebbing and flowing and surging below me like a verse from Dante’s Inferno.

My flushed, excited, sweaty skin. My hard and erect nipples combined with my heaving breasts overexcited them, I realized. Added fuel to the fire.

I
was
the show.

Exposed to all in the spotlight, I raked the sea of faces for Father Marcus’ wondering if he was out there watching.

A tall, blonde Priest off to the side got a head job from a spike-collared black-skinned young man.

It wasn’t Father Marcus but I knew it could well have been.

I stopped and looked, really looked at the crowd. Sound faded. Everything moved in slow motion. It took my breath away.

They wanted me.

I held my arms up and let them bask in my beauty.

I turned around slowly on the spot so they could take me in.

I was exposed and I was powerful.

Sal caught a pair of tossed handcuffs with on hand and snapped them around my wrists.

“There is no need! Let me show you. I want this!”

“There is every need, Ariana.” Sal fastened the handcuffs to a rope that dangled from the ceiling. “Let me show you. Even a queen must be trained before she can rule.” He yanked my arms above my head until my toes scraped the floor.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

“It’s too high you bastard!” I screamed in his face.

“Do you trust me?” he asked again.

“Yes damn it.” I don’t know why but I did trust him. He understood who I was. He saw me, not my physical nakedness, but my need to be wanted.

With a flick of his wrist, he tossed his drink in my face.

Whiskey stung my eyes, ran down my chin and neck, coated my breasts, and soaked into the ragged dress that clung to my hips.

Men leaped up on the stage and grabbed at me. One ripped the garment fully from me. Another squeezed my breasts then twisted my nipples. Another ran his studded tongue from my bellybutton to my neck, licking Sal's drink from my skin.

I kicked at them, twisting the rope that bound me tighter.

How dare they ruin my show!

Arnold came and shoved the stage-crashers back into the crowd. He stood beside me, arms crossed, keeping guard.

The crowd settled under his scowl.

“We are going to play a little game with our little Ariana.” Sal spun me around so my back was facing the crowd. “Let's find out if she likes Kitty as much as we do.”

Sal introduced me to Kitty by draping her nine leather cords across my back, then my buttocks, in a seductive, languid manner.

Lust stirred inside me. I relaxed into the sensation, the presence of the crowd hot and thick against my skin.

They wanted this, the air vibrated with their focus.

So did I.

“Spread her nice and wide,” Sal said.

Arnold spread my legs and shackled my ankles to the stage.

I didn’t mind, I even helped him.

Kitty’s nine leather straps flicked my clit, one after the other.

I tried to hold on as the pleasure mounted.

I almost moaned the word
more
, but I swallowed it back. The sound released came guttural but thankfully, inarticulate.

Shame filled me. What manner of depraved creature was I? My stepmother was right about me. Here I was naked, tied. Whipped! And I loved it. I moaned for it. Arched my back, thrust-my-butt-out-to-give-Kitty-better-access to it. Let-Sal-know-what-I-needed wanted it.

But this time, Sal, not mother, punished me.

Except his punishment was anything but.

He no longer wielded Kitty with gentle seduction but a fierce need. A greed almost. He whipped Kitty as hard as he could against my bottom, again and again.

My ass stung.

My flesh throbbed, hot and welted.

My knees gave out in pleasure.

If Sal was trying to punish me, he was failing. If Satan himself had wielded Kitty I would have begged for more and harder.

My moans lengthened into a wail as Kitty's cords slapped my clit over and over, harder and harder.

This feeling was better than control, better than playing the victim. This was the ultimate fucking mindfuck.

Every one of my senses buzzed, engaged and heightened by Kitty’s licks. Not my five everyday senses but my primal-latent-dormant ones, my flight-or-fight cavewoman, BC, hit-her-over-the-head-with-a-club-and-drag-her-home senses.

I slumped in my restraints and let Kitty have her way with me. I couldn't hold myself up any longer. So overwhelmed and lost in pleasure, my orgasm caught me by surprise.

I howled my release as a gush of cream spurted from my sex and splattered my thighs.

The crowd went wild. They whooped and cheered and shouted for more.

I came and my dreams came true.

They were bidding on something, I didn’t know what nor did I care. My brain, useless gray mush in the aftermath of Kitty's tongue lashing. The excited baying of the crowd diluted by wave after wave of orgasm.

“500 American dollars!”

“1000!”

Sal unshackled my feet with a practiced flick of his wrist, cut me down with his cutlass, and shoved me into Arnold’s arms.

I slumped against him, lost in self-revelation. I had never cum so completely before. The Kitty experience transcended mere physical pleasure and touched upon spiritual enlightenment.

Father Marcus had said he was taking me to the city to discover who I truly was and I hadn’t thought it possible to know, until now.

“Come on, Girl.” Sal spread my thighs and pushed my front down. “Sell yourself for Sal!”

I was willingly his to command, a rag doll under Kitty’s spell. I knelt on the stage with my butt up in the air, sex visible to all, juice dripping down my thighs.

They were bidding for me, I realized in delight. All my life I had sought to control people and situations, no wonder I had been so miserable.

“Imagine sinking your cock into this sweet pie!” Sal slapped my ass.

The sensation shocked me back to reality.

The bids went up to 3000, then 4000. I sat up but Arnold pushed me down again.

“I’m not for sale!”

“You hear that, fellas? She's not for sale! If she’s not for sale, she’s not a whore. A real rarity, few and far between here. Surely, you'd pay at least 6K to fuck a non-whore in a fucking brothel.”

“10,000!”

I looked through my thighs. The winning bid belonged to a fat and balding, Hawaiian-shirt shorts-and-wedding-ring wearing tourist.

“Sold. To Mr. Hawaii. She’s yours for the night.”

“Sal!” I said again.

“If you don’t want to go with him, you don’t have to. Just say the word and I’ll call Marcus to come get you.” Sal crouched down next to me and waved for Arnold to wait.

The idea of being sold for sex had always turned me on.

This was my chance.

“No, I want to do this,” I said. “I hope I’m not a disappointment to the customer.”

“You'll be fine, brat.” He jumped off the stage. “I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t think you’d enjoy it. Doesn't look like he'll last more than a minute then you'll get the rest of the night to yourself.”

Arnold hauled me to my feet and escorted me off the stage.

“What room you in?” he asked Mr. Hawaii, holding me by one arm and bolting a collar around my neck with the other.

“69.” Mr. Hawaii grabbed the chain Arnold gave him. “Sal says it’s the best position. Honestly, I’ve been in most of the others and they all, more or less, offer the same access.”

“You call me if you have any trouble, Mr. Flint.” Arnold’s voice was a friendly and amicable southern drawl. “Do you need me to take her to your room? The fresh ones are the difficult ones.”

Arnold’s customer service took me by surprise.

It told me Sal took his business very seriously.

This was as much about making money as it was about my self-discovery and acting out my fantasies.

“I am sure I can manage.” Mr. Flint asked me my name when we were halfway up the stairs.

“Ariana.”

“Adorable.” He grabbed my arm and tucked it into his. “I'm Brian Flint. You look young, 21?”

I didn’t correct him.

“Whatever you want me to be,” I said playing the role Sal had foisted on me.

Brian smelled of beer and fry oil but his shirt was clean. He pulled me through a smaller door and up a smaller staircase. He wore sandals and the pressure of every step caused his big yellow hangnail to slide into view.

“You must be freezing.” Brian wrapped his arm around me and squeezed me tight the rest of the way to his room.

I was.

Also, my ass burned and I hoped there was sleep in my future.

“You’ll be nice and warm in a minute I promise.” He fumbled for his door key. “Sal has the best girls but fuck I wish they’d upgrade to cards.”

After an epic battle to unstick the key from the lock, Brian ushered me into his mint-on-pillow room. It could have been any room in any standard hotel. Mid-blue curtains to block the light, flat-screen on the wall, and a king size bed.

“I always get the King.” Brian fixed himself a drink and offered me a sip.

I declined but he jiggled the ice in the glass until I took a swig.

I spat it out into the closest pot plant. “I’m sorry. I can’t that’s vile,” I said wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “What is it? Rocket fuel?”

“Homebrew. Could you sit on the bed, please, Ariana.”

He refilled his glass and jiggled it in front of me again. “This time, I want you to hold it in your mouth. I didn’t buy you to spit, Ariana. Do we understand each other?”

I took a sip and held the liquid in my mouth, after a bit the sting faded to numb.

I loved being told what to do.

“Don't swallow!” Brian’s cock sprung free when he pulled down his shorts. Grabbing the back of my head he forced my mouth onto his sex. Whiskey ran out the edges of my mouth and down his shaft.

“Harder!” He fisted his hand in my hair and rammed his dick down my throat. All I could taste was the whiskey, but I gagged on his smell.

His clean shirt a hygienic lie.

Brian hadn’t showered in a week at least.

I clung to his hairy pale thighs and opened my mouth as wide as I could and let him fuck as hard and deep as he wanted. The faster he came, the quicker I could breathe.

“Good girl.” He grunted and thrust a couple more times, then patted my cheek and pulled himself out of my mouth, as hard and erect as ever.

He hadn’t cum.

“I want you to get on your hands and knees and read to me.” Brian handed me a Bible from the bedside table.

“I can't,” I said, face hot with shame “It's too wrong.”

“That's what makes it so right.” Brian’s pudgy face twisted into a pout. “Please?”

“Go on then.” I kneeled on the bed with the Bible laying in front of me. “Which part should I read?”

Brian knelt behind me and shoved me down so my face almost touched the holy pages. “Just read.”

He fumbled my pussy with this fingers and forced them inside. He started slow and it was easy to read, but as his pace and depth increased, I lost my place time and again.

“Read!” He yelled whenever I stopped.

I read from the Songs of Songs.

He inserted his finger, without lubricant or warning, into my ass.

“What are you doing?” I turned over, but he kept rolling me back and shoving his finger deeper and harder inside me. “Read!”

I tried but muscles I never knew I had, spasmed in delight.

Pleasure quickly exceeded everything else and pushed aside reason.

I buried my face in the Bible and breathed in the musk of old page. My whole world reduced to the size of Brian's finger. To the wickedness of what he was doing to me, of what I was letting him do, what I wanted him to do!

He pulled his finger out and I moaned.

“Don't worry, little lady. Brian will make it better.”

That was a lie, at least at first.

He pressed the hot tip of his cock against my ass and then all six inches of his sex into my taint, stretching me unnaturally. Delightfully.

He took me fierce and hard, too much, too quick.

I squirmed, but he shifted so that his full weight crushed me to the bed. He covered my hands with his, where I clutched the sheets, and thrust into me harder and harder.

No attention was given to my clit.

Brian didn't touch it.

He had no need of it, he had found another spot hidden away where it was forbidden to go. Where even Kitty hadn’t licked.

My moans turned once more to pleasure. Mouth buried in the sheet, I relaxed into Brain’s thrusts and let him slide deeper into my ass. He made a series of weird squeaks and thrust once, twice, three times and came deep and hard where no man had ever cum before.

I came with Brian slumped on top of me, wheezing like a man on the verge of an asthma attack.

After a few minutes, he spread my buttocks and snapped a photo with his phone. “Now, that's what I call the perfect cream pie.”

He showed me the close-up of my cream-filled anal cavity.

“You don't mind if I add you to my collection, do you?” he asked. “I never had a cream brat before.” He snorted with glee.

“Sure.” I closed my eyes and snuggled into the pillow, slipping my arms under it to find the cool, fresh sheet underneath.

Brain had already well and truly taken the pie, he might as well keep it too. “As long as I can stay here and get some sleep.”

“As long as you’re out by 4 am. There’s a set of twins I am planning to bid on and I’ll need the room.

My body ached and stung and throbbed from the experiences the last few hours had heap upon it. But for once I felt
sated.

Come to think of it, I felt more in control being controlled than I ever had before. I hadn’t been at Sal’s Saloon for more than a few hours but I felt at home here.

It was rather ironic that Ariana Trout, who so loved the limelight, found her true calling in the dark.