By: Tara Crescent

“I want your hips to bounce up and down,” William ordered. “And I want you to mouth-fuck the other dildo. Take it as deep down your throat as possible. Don’t be distracted by anything we do to you. No teeth marks on the dildo. Understood?”

I nodded silently. “Yes Sir,” I added for good measure.

“Get going then, Jenny.”

As ordered, I started riding the dildo on the floor. Sparks of desire started to build in my body as I fucked myself while William and Karen watched. My mouth was open wide, and my head bobbed obediently on the dildo.


I ask Marc if I can suck his cock. For the first time in my life, I want to. My body is flushed with pleasure at the orgasm his talented mouth has given me and I want to reciprocate. I want to please him.

He shakes his head, though there’s a small smile playing about his lips. “Lie back, sweetness,” he tells me. He holds my hands above my head with his own and he positions his body over mine. As if in slow motion, I watch his head dip down to one needy nipple. I watch his lips fasten around that nub and I feel the shockwave of lust all through my body as his teeth graze at my skin.

I moan out aloud and my legs wind around his body, pulling him closer. “Fuck me,” I plead. I am going to combust from pleasure.

“All in good time, bright star,” he promises me. “All in good time.”


I could feel my memories lubricate my pussy. On autopilot, my mouth sucked the phallus.

There was more. There was a lot more. Nipple clamps were fastened to my nipples and the chain connecting them was wound around a pillar so that each time my head pulled back on the dildo, a sharp stab greeted my nipples. But though I wanted to call the feeling that radiated through my entire body pain, I was lying to myself. Somewhere, though I hadn’t thought I was capable of it, I found pleasure.

A vibrator was nestled among my folds and it was turned on. My ability to control my orgasms was tested and though sweat coated my skin at each denied peak, I obeyed William and Karen. I was in a tunnel. My mind had narrowed down to only one thought. Do what they want you to do.

But unlike every single time in the past, when I obeyed, I didn’t do it out of fear. This was a need to obey that I didn’t fully understand. Thoughts of my revenge had receded to the background. In the foreground, the only thing that was left was this shaking feeling in my body. The endorphins took over and I did as they asked, addicted to their quiet words of encouragement and to their evenly voiced orders.

When I was finally allowed release, I moaned around the cock in my mouth, but my rhythm didn’t falter. Even in my release, I remembered a lesson that was so deeply etched into my soul – the most important thing was my master’s pleasure.

Chapter 3

Ellie / Jenny:

I had passed my evaluation. I’d been allowed to dress and I rejoined Madame Lorraine in the small sitting room I’d been in earlier.

“Your auction is in two days,” she said.

Fear stabbed through me. That soon? But of course, I would want the auction to be as soon as possible, for the sake of my dying sister. “Thank you.” My voice trembled with nerves, though she took it to be relief. After all, I would be paid a quarter of my sale price immediately and that sum of money would be vital to start my imaginary sister’s more aggressive treatments for leukemia – the ones the insurance companies wouldn’t cover.

“Be here at ten in the morning,” she continued. “We will need to get you ready so you can look your best. That will help your purchase price. The auction itself will be at six in the evening.”

It would take eight hours to get me ready for auction? But I bit off any protest. After all, what did I know of make-up and the art of pleasing men? I’d been taken when I was eighteen. I’d thrown myself into training when I was twenty. I was twenty-six now and painfully inexperienced and I had absolutely no knowledge of the things women did to attract men.

But I hadn’t needed any make-up to attract Marc. My brain, unbidden by me, once again started reliving details of that night two years ago.


I’ve run into a tiny neighborhood watering hole in the arrondissement of Saint-Denis in the north east corner of Paris. My blood pounds and my emotions churn. He’s seated at the bar and the only available seat is next to him. I grit my teeth – I’m not looking for company. I mutter a polite ‘Bonsoir’ and hope I’m left alone. No such luck. He turns to me with a smile. “American?” he asks in English.

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