What a Way to Make a Living

“Next!” calls a voice, an upper-class, middle aged woman by the sound of it.

A hand in the small of my back pushes me firmly forward into the gloom.

I advance, the click of my high heels echoing through the large space.

As my eyes grew accustomed to the semi-darkness, I see a simple wooden chair, and stop by it, my hand resting lightly on the back.

There is a distant “clunk” sound, and I’m suddenly blinded by a spotlight. I instinctively raise my hand to shield my eyes, but then remember that I am a professional, and force myself to lower it again, and smile towards my unseen audience, who I can hear murmuring out in the darkness of theatre.

“Let down your hair,” orders the sickembodied voice. I quickly untie the ribbon holding my ponytail, and toss it aside as I shake my head, letting my dark hair tumble past my shoulders.

“Turn.”

I slowly turn around to give them a good look at me.

The second time I have my back to the audience, the voice orders me to stop.

“Raise your skirt.”

This is always the first thrill for me. ‘Always’? Yes, I’ve done this before.

I slowly pull my knee-length grey wool skirt up, exposing first the tops of my lace stockings around my shapely thighs, and then my pert bottom. One side of my white cotton kneeers rides up, exposing my cheek, and I give a slight shiver as the cool air hits it. My sense of symmetry and what’s left of my modesty wants to pull it back down, but I know what my public wants, and I remain standing, exposed to them.

“The first bid is for a spanking, over the knickers, twelve strokes.”

A different voice, a man this time, begins to run the audit, and my bottom is soon sold.

A balding, middle aged man in a tweed suit climbs up onto the stage from my right and sits down on the chair. I hike my skirt all the way up around my wait, straighten my knickers, and lay myself across his lap, legs clamped tightly together. He lays one hand across my back, and I can feel he’s already hard as he strokes my bottom with the other, then I tend up as he lifts that one. He brings it down firmly, first on my left cheek, then the right.

“Is that ok?” he whispers.

“You’ve paid good money,” I reply quietly, “you can go as hard as you like.”

He lays down four more strokes, much harder this time, and I grab the chair legs to stop myself clutching my singing bottom.

He pauses and strokes my sore cheeses for a few seconds, and I reflect, not for the first time, about what I am doing here, selling myself for the use of the highest bidder. The auction house takes fifteen percent, the vendor another fifteen, but the rest is mine to fund college. I also get a cut of the entrance fee, although that’s much smaller, since it’s split among all the girls for sale tonight. Much better than waitressing!

He’s done fondling, and his erect cock is now trying to burrow its way into my belly through his trousers.

Helays down five more spanks, and I know he wants to savour the last one. As a treatment, I part my legs, and feel him take a sharp intake of breath. He strokes me again, letting his hand slide between my legs and brushing my pussy lips through the flimsy clothes, then ‘whack!’, he hits me for the last time, hard enough to make me yelp out loud.

He helps me to my feet, thanks me politely, and tries to hide his erection as he walks back off the stage, to the amusement of the other guests.

“Remove your skirt,” comes the hard female voice.

I unclasp it, slip it down and step out of it, and hand it to a young woman who has emerged from the shadows. For the first time, the audience sees the front of my knickers, and it thrills me to know there’s just the thinnest piece of fabric preventing them from seeing my shephed snatch.

“Now your blouse.”

I slowly unbutton the crisp white blouse and slip it off my shoulders. Once again, the young woman relieves me of it.

I’mstanding there in front of over a hundred people in just my underwear and heels. I pull my belly in and push my tits out to let the lacy bra do its thing. I choose one that’s slightly too small so that my ample boobs look ready to spill out of the cups. I know what sells!

“The next item for sale is to remove the bra and clamp the nipples.”

I shiver with excitement as the auditioneer begins.

“Are they real?” calls out a man’s voice.

I began to nod, but the woman in charge curtly says, “You’ll have to win to find out.”, so I keep still.

More, general bids come in, until finally my breasts are sold, and I’m approached by a handsome, grinning young man. He comes up behind me, keeping me facing the audience. He gently moves my hair aside and softly kisses my neck, and my knees nearly buckle. God, I wish he’d won the right to fuck me!

His hands move to my shoulders, then gently slide my bra straps off them. I keep my hands by my side, even though I want toslide one behind me to his cock.

He slides one hand onto my belly, then uses the other to expertly unfasten my bra and lets it drop to the floor, exposing my breasts to the room. I’m tingling all over. His hands slide up to cup them, and he takes firm hold of my nipples between finger and thumb, tweaking them to hardness, then give them a sharp, deliciously painful twist, making me gasp in delight. His mouth is on my neck and shoulder again, kissing and licking, and I’m willing him to slide a hand down into my knickers.

“If you don’t mind…” The woman in charge breaks the spell, and he slides his hands off my tits down to my wait, moving around me at the same time, and turning me slightly so that he’s facing me, but the audience can still see. (has he done this before?)

We’re now locking eyes.

The young woman reappears and hands him something. It’s a chain with nipple clamps attached to each end. He squeezes my left nipple again, and apply a clamp to it, withought breaking eye contact, then the same with the right. The chain hangs down level with my belly-button.

He now reaches to each clamp and begins to turn the little screws, tightening it, increasing the pain, never taking his eyes off mine. I stare defiantly back as the pain increases, determined to take it, but eventually I flinch and let out a little whimper. He gives one more cruel twist of the screws, then lets go. He gives me a slightly questioning look, but my nipples are starting to go numb, so I think I can take it, and I give him the slightest nod.

He smiles, then take hold of the chain and leads me to the very front of the stage, then he’s gone, and I’m left alone in the spotlight, minus another item of clothing, but plus some very painful jewellery.

“The next item for auction is to remove those damp underpants. The winner will get to keep them. The subject will please knee at the edge of the stage, facing away from the bidders.”

I do as instructed,turning my back on them, and kneeing, my feet hanging off the stage.

“Nipples to the floor please.”

I lower myself all the way down, until my breasts press the clamps and chain against the cold floor, thrusting my bottom high in the air. I know all eyes in the room are staring at the thin fabric stretched tight over my cunt. Is there a visible wet patch? I wonder if the front row can smell my arousal.

The bidding begins. I must look good, because it ends remarkably high.

Footsteps approach. It sounds like another man, but I keep my head down.

He stops right behind me, standing on the theatre floor, so his face is level with my bottom, and places his hands on my calves, then slowly slides them up, squeezing my thighs, then onto my bottom. He presses his fingers into my firm flesh then slips They under my waistband. Here we go.

Slowly, oh so slowly, he begins to tug my knickers down, inch by inch. I can barely breathe as he exposes my most secret place, then feel his breath as he leans in close. He kisses each chef, just a few millionmetres away from the hole, then tugs down further until my pussy is revealed to him.

He uses his thumbs to spread me wide. He can see first hand now how wet I am. He leans in again and I hear him inhale deeply, savouring my scent.

He pulls further down, and I lift my knees to allow him to remove my knickers fully, and as I bring them back down, I leave them apart for him.

He kisses me once more, then whispers, “thank you,” before I hear his footsteps received. I never saw him – I’ll never know who he is.

Before I get a chance to rise, she orders – “Remain in place.”

I’m kept in that shameful position for another minute, my bare bottom and pussy spread on display for the whole room.

I’m finally allowed to stand again, and I walk back over to the chair. My swinging tits cause the chain to tug painfully on my nipples, but I keep my composure, standing there primary with myhands by my side. I keep my legs together, but I’m slim enough to have a significant thigh-gap, so I know my lips are still visible.

Through the brain fog of my sexual frustration, I try to remember what I agreed to next, then the young woman hands me something. Oh yes.

“The next item is twelve strokes with a leather flogger.”

As the bids come in, I look down at the item in my hands. A thick, leather bound handle topped with a large fake jewel is in my right hand, but the business end lies across my left – multiple leather strips, about eighteen inches long.

It’s cruel to make me display the means of my imminent torture like this, but that’s the point, right?

The bidding finishes – I’ve certainly raised enough to be able to take next term’s classes, but will I be able to sit down for them?

Steps come onto the stage – a woman! She’s smartly dressed in a twin-set and pearls, looks upper class, like she owns dogs and horses, and definitely knows how toWield a whip. She takes the flogger from me with her gloved hands.

“Hands on the chair back, bottom to the audience, back horizontal,” she orders, and I realize from her voice that she’s the woman running the show. Is she allowed to bid? Is that ok? I suppose it doesn’t matter. I do as she instructions. Once again, the audience is treated to an excellent view of my private parts. With my tits hanging down, the weight of the chain tugs on my nipples. I shudder to think just how painful it’s going to be when the clamps are removed and the blood is allowed to flow back into them.

She slowly walks all the way around me, teasing the leather strips across my back and over my bottom.

Then there’s a whooshing sound and a sering pain across my buttocks. I yell out in pain, but manage to remain in position, and she quickly lays three more strokes across me.

“Please!” I gasp, “I can only take them that hard if you give me recovery time!”

“Very well,” she replies, “I’llchange the target.”

She lays two more strokes on me, but this time aimed at my upper thighs, where they are bare above the stocking tops. That’s six strokes – half way. I can do this.

She pushes her foot between mine and pushes them apart, further and further, so the audience must be able to see the glistening wetness inside me.

She walks round me again, and out of the corner of my eye I see her Taking her gloves off. Uh oh. She croouches down next to me and lays the gloves over my chain, adding significantly to the weight tugging on my nipples. It’s enough to bring tears to my eyes, and I see a couple splash on the stage below me

She then lays a firm stroke across my lower left cheek, and with my legs open, some of the strands flick my pussy lips. It’s painful and humiliating, and I love it. I’m sorry she only has three strokes left. She steps to my right and does it again on the other chef, but leaning a little further in so my lips are hit harder.

Shepauses again. Two left. I’m worried about what she has in store.

She cares my bottom with her hand, as if to soothe me, but she lets her fingers drift into forbidden territory. Forbidden by the audit rules, at least – I want nothing more than to be penetrated right now, but she only barely touches my lips and anus – nowhere near enough to satisfy.

I feel her taking a swinging position again. Whoosh! The hardest yet, and I shriek in pain. It’s everything I can do not to leap up and clutch my bottom, but if I do, the stroke doesn’t count, so I force myself to remain in position. I even thrust my bottom out more in defiance. One left.

She leans down to me. “This last one is going to be right up between your legs, so brace yourself.”

“No, please!” I gasp in horror, “not that!”

Those leather strips are going to hit my most tender parts – my open vagina, my delicate pussy lips, even my clip! Will I be able to stand it? If I leap up and clutch my crotch shegets another stroke, if I refuse, she gets her money back.

Her hand is on my bottom again, caresing so softly, so lovingly, I can hardly believe this same person is about to inflict such pain. This time, she completely violates the rules – her thumb presses firmly against my anus and her fingers open my flower and delve inside my wetness. I realize she’s offering me a way out by breaking the rules. I can stop everything without penalty now if I want.

But I don’t want. I want to feel that stroke. I want to experience that pain. I want to know where my limits are.

I push my cunt against her hand, and she gets the message.

She lets go and stands up. I stiffen my body, clnch my pussy tight, grip the chair as hard as I can.

Whoosh. I scream. The pain is indescribable. My cunt is on fire. My clip feels like it’s been ripped off.

I collapse to my knees, sobbing loudly, my hands between my tightly clenched thighs trying to soothe my poor pussy.

I feel arms around me. It’s her. She’s crouching down behind me, holding me tight.

“There, there,” she whispers, her voice now soft, “you were so very brave,”

She slides her right hand down my belly and forces it under my hands, so now she’s the one clutching my pussy. Her fingers tenderly stroke my sore lips, caressing lovingly. I’m still sobbing. Still so much pain.

Her other hand moves to my breasts, caressing equally softly, then she gently unclamps my left nipple. I cry out in pain again, but her fingers are quickly working on my nipple to ease the pain, then she does the other, and it’s not quite as bad.

Her hand between my legs has slipped right inside me, and is now smearing my wetness around my lips and over my clip. Between sobs, I let out a little whimper of pleasure. She starts to circle my clip with her wet fingers.

Her other hand leaves my breasts now and gently moves my hands onto my thighs, giving her unrestricted access to my cunt. Fingers press inside me now, exploring, looking for that magic spot.

I lean back into her, pressing my back against the rough fabric of her jacket, feeling her heaving bosom against me. The sobbing is gone now, replaced by gentle moaning and the occasional squeak of pleasure as she brushes against sensitive spots.

Soon she’s fully found what she’s looking for. The fingers inside me are confidently stimulating my g-spot and the other hand has two fingers squeezing my clip, rubbing in a circle, round and round, slowly getting faster. She can tell by my breathing that she has me where she wants me. My moaning gets louder, and she presses harder and faster, harder and faster, harder and faster.

The orgasm is rushing at me now, unstoppable, every fiber of my body is aflame. Her mouth is kissing my neck. I bring my hands to my breasts and pinch my nipples as hard as I can, wanting that pain back. I cry out as it washes over me, wave after wave, the best I’ve ever had, slamming throughme from the tips of my toes to the very top of my head. My legs are quivering, shaking uncontrollable, my thighs clnch her hand inside me like I never want her out of me. I’ve never had one like this. Someone is crying out in ecstasy, and it only stops when wet fingers are pressed into my mouth and I’m tasting my own cunt-juices.

I’m panting now, slowly coming down off it. She still has hold of me, gently turning me so that my exhausted head rests on her chest.

I suddenly remember where I am. On a stage in front of hundreds of people. Only ten feet in front of me are rows and rows of complete strangers who’ve just witnessed the most intimate moment of my life, seen more than even most of my lovers have. I’m in heaven.

What a way to make a living!